


a song of ice and fire

by laurenjauregui



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: F/F, Game of Thrones AU, Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenjauregui/pseuds/laurenjauregui
Summary: Camila is a mere common squire in Ashford, in the service of a Tyrell man-at-arms, when she meets a beautiful but mysterious woman named Lauren. Lauren claims to be a bastard born in the Reach, who travels with a hedge knight named Ser Michael, going wherever he goes to find work.But what Camila does not know is that Lauren is truly Visenya Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, returned after eighteen years of exile to take her kingdom back, and rain fire and blood down on anyone who would try to stop her.





	a song of ice and fire

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't read/watched game of thrones and you still want to read this you're probably best off skimming these wiki pages for context in some parts  
https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Robert%27s_Rebellion  
https://gameofthrones.fandom.com/wiki/Assassination_of_Robert_Baratheon  
https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Aerys_II_Targaryen  
https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rhaegar_Targaryen
> 
> also, you know, spoilers for GOT throughout  
this is mostly based off book canon (e.g. the targaryens having lilac eyes) but kept yara greyjoy's name as yara when she's mentioned to avoid confusion

“Are you sure we should be returning to Westeros, Your Grace?”

As she finishes putting the final touches on the dye in her hair, she nods at the exiled Tyrell knight. “I must win back my throne. We will find loyalists here, not a thousand leagues away in Essos.”

“We could buy an army in Essos,” Ser Michael suggests; he had been adamantly against her plan, “you are safe, so long as nobody knows you are alive. My House may rally to your cause, but only if you have strength, which you can easily get. We could buy an army of sellswords, we have enough coin to do so-”

“Sellswords who would throw their weapons down should House Tyrell fail to declare for my cause when the time comes,” she snaps, her fingers tracing over the scales of the dragon. He was no bigger than a small dog, but growing stronger by the day. Vhagar, she’d named him, after the dragon her namesake rode in the conquest. “No. We continue to sail for Westeros. Everyone there believes me dead, killed by The Mountain during the sack of King’s Landing like my brother and sister. Nobody will pay any mind to a bastard girl and a hedge knight.”

“And if someone should recognise you, and realise the truth? Or if Lord Varys’ loyalties prove false?” He argues. “The eunuch has betrayed one too many times. He may have smuggled Rhaegar’s only heir from King’s Landing during the sack, but he bent the knee to the Usurper all the same.”

“If he had not, he would have been executed.” She is quick to argue back. She is fully aware of how flimsy Lord Varys’ loyalties were, but he had gotten her out of King’s Landing, the only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen, son of King Aerys II Targaryen. She is the future queen, and she plans on taking her kingdom back. “He will win Dorne for us when the time is right; they are desperate to avenge my mother, and helping me win the throne will get them their justice. The Lannisters conspire to kill the Usurper, and the lords are faithful to _him_, not them. When the Usurper is gone, who is left to rule but their true queen?”

“The Usurper’s son, this _Joffrey_.” He points out. “In the line of succession-”

“Where was Robert Baratheon in the line of succession, ser?” She snaps, and smoke pours from Vhagar’s nostrils; he is getting restless too. “Many Houses will rise to their true queen. Varys is already plotting with Doran Martell.”

“We should wait until Vhagar is grown,” She rolls her eyes at his persistence, “a dragon is worth a thousand armies.”

“We do not know if Vhagar should ever reach the size of his namesake, or his brothers, Meraxes and Balerion the Black Dread. The last Targaryen dragons were mere _dogs. _I know that Vhagar is already bigger than that, but we do not know how big he will grow. We need the great houses of Westeros, and their bannermen too.” She rebukes. “I must be in the position to strike when the time is right. Vhagar, we will keep hidden as he grows; Varys has already found the place.”

“It is not an easy feat to hide a dragon,” He reminds her, and she knows; Vhagar grows more unruly day by day, and she is the only person here who can keep him in check, similarly to the dragons of her aunt in Meereen, Daenerys Targaryen. “I do not think this stone manse in the woods will do, especially as he grows.”

“If he grows,” She reminds him. “We will sail to the Reach, and pose as a hedge knight and his bastard daughter in the lands of your fathers. We will befriend the commoners, make the smallfolk love us, and when the Usurper is killed by his own court, we will reveal ourselves. With you the true heir to Highgarden, and with Lord Varys’ promises of Dorne allegiance, we will have our army. They will call their banners, and we can take the throne as Daenerys flies to take Dragonstone from the Usurper’s brother. I will rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

And as they sail on, every moment a moment closer to her birthright and Westeros, Visenya of the House Targaryen smiles as Vhagar flutters to land on her lap.

-

“Up. Come on, get up.”

Camila groans as the bedsheets are thrown from her and the light from the windows stings her eyes. She rolls onto her back, and through squinted eyes, meets the gaze of Sinu, the wife of the knight for whom she squires for.

“Ale needs you to polish his armour. Come on, _up_,” Sinu whips the towel in her hand sharply, a threat that she would never carry out. “You must tend to the horses as well, and go to the smith’s to pick up that new sword.”

“Alright, okay, I’m up,” Camila pushes herself up onto her elbows as Sinu leaves her cramped little bedroom, and she quickly pulls on a pair of underwear, pants and an old t-shirt thrown over the end of her bed. She stretches, and quickly freshens up, before she heads to the kitchen for a quick breakfast of an orange before going to tend to the horses.

Those are her tasks every day; tend to the horses, tend to Alejandro’s armour, and often help Sinu with the washing and cooking. They’re not her parents – Camila doesn’t know who her true parents are, and most like she’s probably some lord’s bastard – but they’re the closest thing she has. She has vague recollections of a past life; stone walls and a man with black hair and striking blue eyes, as well as a kindly brown-eyed woman who had taken her away from that place and to a tavern, until a group of outlaws had broken in during the Rebellion and put a sword through her belly, right in front of Camila’s eyes when she was only three.

After that, she had a life of wandering Westeros alone, stealing what she could to live off. Then during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, seven years after Robert Baratheon took the crown, she’d met Alejandro, a knight from the Reach in need of a squire. Camila had never been a _lady_ of sorts, and in battle, knights tend to be desperate, so he’d taken her on, a mere girl of ten. When he’d returned home to find his wife’s babe was a stillborn, they’d taken her in, and she’s as much a daughter to them as they’re parents to her. Eleven years later, and she’s still squiring for him; he trains her with sword and lance on a night, so long as she keeps the horses fed and his armour well polished.

When she’s done all of her usual daily tasks, she takes her horse, Thunder, and rides him into the market square. Ashford is a little town with a holdfast just a few leagues from Highgarden, and the market is often bustling with people, especially when there is some kind of tourney. She makes her way to the smith’s, to pick up the new sword Alejandro had requested; Camila is hoping that he’ll give her his old one, since she’s been training for years and knows how much of an honour it is to receive your father’s sword. She knows he’s no high lord and it’s not a Valyrian steel family sword, but it’s still her _father’s_ and that makes it a huge honour.

She ties Thunder up outside, and pets his mane gently, before heading inside. Usually at this time of the morning, there isn’t much business, but inside is an armoured man, most obviously a knight, and a dark-haired girl waiting next to him. They’re talking to the smith, and Camila waits patiently; she only needs to pick up Alejandro’s new sword, after all.

The woman notices her, her gaze flicking over to meet Camila’s. The younger girl is startled as the woman’s gaze immediately flits away and she turns around completely; her eyes are a stunningly bright violet.

_Valyrian blood_, Camila thinks, _like the old dragonkings and queens before the Baratheon rebellion. _She knows that some are still around, but she’d never met anyone descended from the blood of Old Valyria. It’s likely that this girl is some House Celtigar bastard, or might be she has a drop of Targaryen or Blackfyre blood; they sired plenty of bastards in their days on the Iron Throne.

“Camila,” the smith notices her as the knight talks about the new plate and mail that he requires, “I have the sword that your father required.”

“Thank you,” Camila takes it from him, sheathed, and puts the sword belt around her waist, adjusting it. She gives the man the gold dragon and silver stag it cost, and as she turns to go, she finds the woman looking at her again. Smiling, she says, “You’re very beautiful, my lady,” as she exits the smith’s and goes back to Thunder.

She’s untying her horse and getting ready to hop back into the saddle when the woman steps out of the smith’s too. “Do you live around here?” she questions, and Camila raises her eyebrows at the brusque manner of questioning.

“Yes, I’ve lived in Ashford for years,” Camila says, and with one hand tight on Thunder’s reins, she holds out a hand to shake, “I’m Camila.”

The woman takes her hand, shaking it, “Is there an inn around here, Camila?”

“Yeah,” Camila replies, wondering why she won’t give her name, “a little while down the kingsroad, but still central. I could take you there…”

Seeming to recognise the space to say her name, the woman replies, “Lauren,” there’s a moment of hesitation before she seems to remember, “Flowers. Lauren Flowers.”

Flowers. The name of the bastards born in the Reach. She’d suspected, and judging by the lilac of her eyes, the woman definitely had some Valyrian blood. “Okay. Lauren. Yeah, I could take you to the inn, but it’s a silver stag per night. You could just stay with me. My father is a knight, pledged to House Tyrell, so he has moderate accommodations.”

Lauren hums in thought, eyeing Camila’s destrier with interest, as well as the old sword at her waist. “Are you a knight too?”

“No, I’m my father’s squire,” Camila explains, and instead of jumping into her story about how he’s not exactly her father, she asks, “so what brings you to Ashford?”

“Just… travelling,” Lauren answers, hesitating a little, “I came from Essos.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit Essos,” Camila says, mounting Thunder, holding his reins tight. “Do you and your knight have horses? I’d offer to ride triple, but I don’t think Thunder could handle three people. He’s strong, but not that strong. Two riders, he can handle.”

“We don’t have one horse, let alone two.” Lauren explains, blushing courteously and murmuring, “a hedge knight doesn’t tend to have much coin.”

“Here,” Camila is quick to pass the woman a golden dragon, “don’t tell my father; I’ll just say the sword cost more than he expected. It may pay for a few nights for your knight in the inn, but not the two of you. But I have a perfectly fitting bed. If you don’t mind sharing, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” Lauren is quick to argue, “I’m not highborn. I am a bastard, Flowers is my name.”

Camila raises her eyebrows; everyone in Ashford knows that she beds women, and only women, and while some curse her for it, it doesn’t stop her from being courteous. “Every beautiful woman is a lady in my eyes, highborn or no. A woman is especially beautiful when she has the blood of Old Valyria. The lilac in your eyes is stunning. Was your father a Targaryen or a Celtigar? Or maybe some bastard from either House?”

“I don’t know,” Lauren replies, saddened suddenly, “I do not know my true father.”

“Oh. Well, I never knew my true father, my lady,” Camila assures her, as the knight steps out of the smith’s, “For all I know, my last name is Flowers too. Or, you know, Storm. My first memories were of the Stormlands, where I lived in a tavern with a woman I think was my mother, and I came to the Reach to squire for my father after she was killed in Robert Baratheon’s Rebellion. Not my true father, to be sure, but the man who is more to me than that.”

“He sounds like a gallant man,” Lauren replies, before turning to her knight and saying, “Ser Michael. I will be staying with Camila. She says there is an inn, a few leagues down the road, which will have suitable accommodations for you.”

The knight looks at her warily, “My lady-”

“I will be staying with Camila,” She repeats, more firmly this time. “You will find the inn, I presume? Here; a golden dragon, to pay for your stay.”

The knight gives Lauren some kind of look, but he takes the golden dragon and makes his way to the inn anyway, when Camila directs him. When he is half a league away, Camila smiles, and pats her saddle, “Come, my lady.”

“You’ve learned your courtesies,” Lauren observes as she hops into the saddle in front of Camila. The younger girl puts an arm around her waist to hold her tight, and uses one hand to hold Thunder’s reins. “Was this from a maester or septa?”

“Neither,” Camila confesses as they ride back towards Alejandro’s cottage, “I just feel it is necessary to treat people how they deserve to be treated. Plus, I’ve heard the highborns and how they speak; Ashford often has tourneys, and last time King Robert Baratheon himself came. I wasn’t allowed to ride, being a squire, but my father did, and he unhorsed Lord Renly!”

Lauren’s mood seems to sour. “Robert Baratheon is a Usurper.”

Camila knows that there are still Targaryen loyalists, but she’s never heard something so openly treasonous. She doesn’t care much for the high lords and ladies and their game of thrones; as long as she and the rest of the smallfolk are left alone, she doesn’t care who sits the Iron Throne. But to hear someone call King Robert a Usurper…

“King Robert took the throne,” Camila states, all factual. “Just like Aegon and his sisters in the Conquest. He is the king now, and so long as there is peace, who cares who sits the throne?”

Lauren is quiet, and Camila assumes that maybe she liked the dragonkings because of their connection to Valyria, from which she is descended. Not that she’d be old enough to remember anything; she can’t be older than Camila’s age of one-and-twenty. “How old are you, my lady?”

“Two-and-twenty,” Lauren replies, craning her neck to look at her in the saddle, “why?”

“Just a question. Wondering if you remembered the dragonkings, is all,” Camila explains, “House Targaryen were good rulers when their coin landed right, it is true, until the Mad King came along and ruined that for them. He burned Lord Rickard Stark alive in his armour, and strangled his son Brandon besides, just because they rebelled when Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, like any loyal family member would. King Robert is a good, just ruler.”

“Rhaegar didn’t-” Lauren starts, but she snaps her jaw shut and shakes her head, “Robert Baratheon is still a Usurper. Where was he in the line of succession? If Aerys was a bad king, why not crown Rhaegar? He was good and just. Robert Baratheon sends hired knives to kill babes at their mother’s breast, just because their name may be Targaryen.”

“I agree, the sack of King’s Landing and the murder of Rhaegar’s children was unnecessary,” Camila allows her, “Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya deserved a chance to grow up and pledge fealty to the new crown, and restart House Targaryen. Killing babes of one, three and four is not right. His brother and sister, Daenerys and Viserys, they are still alive, right?”

“Viserys was killed years ago by the Dothraki horse lord Daenerys was married to,” Lauren replies, and Camila wonders how she knows, “According to rumour in Essos, Daenerys is ruling in Meereen as queen. She has abolished slavery and has three dragons at her back.”

“She would be the heir to the throne, since Rhaegar’s children and Viserys are dead,” Camila realises, “why doesn’t she come and take it?”

She’s aware that her words are somewhat treasonous; even _talk_ of a possible Targaryen restoration could get you killed. But if Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons, why not use them to conquer Westeros like her ancestors?

“Maybe she doesn’t want it,” Lauren supplies, “maybe Essos is where she should be.”

“It’d be madness, for a Targaryen to land in Westeros without a huge army,” Camila answers, because Robert Baratheon would have anyone who even looked Targaryen killed, “She’s probably safer there, anyway.”

“Enough about the high lords and ladies and the Iron Throne,” Lauren almost snaps at her, “they pay no mind to commoners like us. Ultimately it will be their downfall, because there are more of us than there are of them, but we shouldn’t worry about who sits the throne when they certainly don’t worry about us.”

“Yeah. The only time they care is when they need soldiers to fight their wars.” Camila urges Thunder on a little faster, to make better time, “my father is a soldier. I’m his squire, and one day I’d like to be a knight. I know it’s unconventional, and most people tell me I’d be better off working in the kitchen or even the brothels, but all of that stuff… it’s not me.”

Camila wonders what Lauren does; other than travelling with the knight she was with. She’s quick to inquire, “So, what is your relationship with your knight? Is he your husband?”

“No. He’s sort of like a father figure, since I never knew mine own,” Lauren explains, “I know one day I must marry, everyone usually does, but I will certainly not wed Ser Michael. Are you married, ser?”

Camila shakes her head at the false courtesy. “I’m not a knight.”

“Nor am I a lady,” Lauren rebukes, “now, ser. Are you married, or still a maiden?”

“Neither,” Camila answers honestly; she’s only ever bedded women, and she knows it would be unconventional for her to marry one. She’s not even sure if she could find a septon to officiate. She’s grateful she wasn’t highborn; for a highborn of her alignment, it means they will be ostracised; since the Targaryen downfall, any queer sort of relationship was tabooed. “I don’t think I’ll marry. It’s not for me. Nor to my preferences.”

Lauren frowns. “Your preferences?”

“If I were to marry,” Camila prefaces, unsure of how Lauren will take this, but she can always go to the inn if she’s uncomfortable, “I would want to marry a maid. But I’m not highborn, I’m probably a bastard, so I never have to marry.”

“A maid?” Lauren questions, but before Camila has the chance to explain herself, she merely shrugs and says, “Ladies often have a certain appeal. In Essos, it is not seen as wrong, to lay with another lady. But Essos is not Westeros.”

“No, my lady. It isn’t.” Camila concedes, and when the little village she lives in comes into view, she brings Thunder to a stop outside of the little stone cottage she calls her home. “Come. This is our stop.”

She helps Lauren down from the saddle, escorting her towards the cottage, and calling for Sinu. “Mother! We have a guest.”

Sinu comes out of the kitchen, dutiful hostess as always, and when she sees the black haired beauty still holding Camila’s hand, she eyes the younger girl with a certain suspicion, before offering, “would you like some refreshment? We have wine and ale. We would be happy to share our meat and mead with a friend of Camila’s.”

“You are most gracious, my lady,” Lauren compliments, and Camila takes her through to their small kitchen, grabbing a flagon of wine and pouring Lauren a cup. She notes that the woman makes sure to eat something, confirming her guestright for the night. Under the laws of hospitality, Lauren is protected under their roof.

“I should show you to the room, my lady,” Camila says, before she realises, “do you have any belongings that I need to carry? Surely you have more than the mere clothes on your back.”

Lauren is wearing a simple gown, fitting of such a beautiful woman, but shows that she is not highborn from the materials. Highborn ladies wear gowns of silks and lace; Lauren’s is plain cotton and wool.

“I do not have much, ser,” Lauren sips on the wine, “my belongings are with Ser Michael, still on the ship we arrived here on. He will take them to the inn, I presume. I will go and retrieve them later; I believe he plans to visit the great Lord Tyrell and ask for service. As he is a hedge knight, I go where he thinks he will find work.”

“That is understandable,” Camila admits, “My father often does the same in times of war. In peace times, however, we stay in Ashford. Sometimes there are tourneys to ride in.”

“Have you ever jousted?” Lauren asks her, and Camila pulls out a seat for her at the kitchen table. The woman thanks her, and when Camila sits opposite her, her lilac eyes are still sparkling with interest. “Have you ever been a tourney champion?”

“I have tried once. The last tourney, a moon’s turn ago, against other squires,” Camila replies, “many high lords and ladies were in attendance, my father unseated Renly Baratheon himself. My father was unhorsed by The Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell.”

Lauren seems to sour at the mention of the storm lords, and while Camila knows that many Targaryen loyalists still exist, none are so open about it. But Lauren doesn’t comment on anything, merely says, “I am sure you rode valiantly, ser.”

Camila looks into the beautiful woman’s eyes again, and she doesn’t even realise she’s reaching across the table until her hand is already on top of Lauren’s. “Can you speak High Valyrian, my lady? I noticed that you have some Valyrian blood, for the beautiful purple in your eyes.”

Lauren looks unsure, but nods. “High Valyrian is my mother tongue. I was born in Westeros, but have spent many years in Essos, while Ser Michael fought with the Storm Crows, a sellsword company. He found me as a child, starving in the streets of Oldtown, and took pity. I have been with him ever since.”

“Do you remember your true parents?” Camila asks. “I know you said you did not know your father, but what of your mother?”

“My first memories are of the streets,” Lauren tells her, rather sharply, “both of my parents are long dead. I never knew them, so I could not tell you from which side I have my Valyrian blood. I know nothing of them.”

“I must say, Valyria has produced many beautiful things. Like Valyrian steel, or the stunning woman I see before me,” Camila compliments, and Lauren raises her eyebrows, the blush obvious on her cheeks. Smirking slightly, Camila adds, “So you say in Essos, it is not uncommon for women to bed women?”

“No, not uncommon at all,” Lauren finally seems to notice Camila’s hand on hers, and after a few moments, she turns hers so their fingers are interlocked, “I will admit, I have partaken.”

“Oh,” Camila lightly replies, “well, that is _very_ convenient.”

Lauren smiles, and the lilac of her eyes seems a much deeper purple, until she murmurs, “I have some business with Ser Michael that I must attend to, but I shall return by nightfall with my belongings.”

“I shall escort you, my lady,” Camila assures her, standing up and keeping a tight grip on her hand. “It is only courteous.”

Lauren looks uncertain, but nods. “I will let you escort me to the inn, but I am afraid I must keep my business private. Ser Michael is very wary of outsiders.”

“I will bring your belongings back here, and meet you at the inn come evenfall to escort you back,” Camila replies, and once Lauren has finished her cup of wine, she escorts her back out to Thunder. Lauren gives him a few pets, and she smiles. “Thunder likes you. Often he is most unruly around strangers.”

“I find I have a connection with certain animals,” Lauren says, as she gets into the saddle in front of Camila, allowing the younger woman to wrap a gentle arm protectively around her waist, “I must thank you for the hospitality, ser. It is rare to find such kindness in strangers.”

“It is nothing, my lady,” Camila assures her, “I was raised to be good and true, and I hope one day I will win my knighthood.”

Lauren hums, and while Camila can’t see her, she’s smiling elusively. “Might be that it’s one day soon.”

-

“You would do well not to trust this girl, Your Grace,” Ser Michael tells her as they silently make their way through the wood, “You say she knows nothing of her true parents? She has the Baratheon look of her, and we both know how the Usurper is with his whoring.”

“So she may be the Usurper’s bastard,” she replies in a hushed whisper, finally spotting the ruin of a house, its roof and walls still intact, but otherwise derelict, gripping her bow tight in her hands, an arrow already notched, “she knows him not. I find she has a certain charm about her, and if she _is_ one of the Usurper’s bastards, she can be legitimised by a queen. Once we have eliminated the Usurper and his brood, I will have a Lady of Storm’s End who is faithful to me and my rule.”

“And if she is not? For all you know, this woman could turn you over to my father, who bent the knee to the Usurper.” Ser Michael points out, “He is a failing old man, to be sure, but he may be stubborn and send ravens out if he finds out who you are before the time is right. We need to lay low until the Usurper is murdered by the Lannisters.”

Ignoring his worries, she pushes her weight against the heavy iron door of the ruined house and lights the torch, lowering her bow. She waits for Ser Michael to get in, and he takes the torch from her as she calls out, “Vhagar?”

The dragon emerges from the darkness, hissing, and flutters to land on her shoulder like he loved to do when he was little. He’s much heavier now, but as she tries to shake him off, he merely digs his talons in, so she sits on the dirty floor, as she cannot bear his weight standing, and smiles and pets him under the chin.

Turning to Ser Michael, she tells the dragon. “We’ve brought your dinner. I’m afraid it’s not much, and I’m sorry you can’t go hunting like you want, but we must needs keep you safe.”

The dragon hisses, but she feels like he understands. Ser Michael throws the meat – butchered horse – to the dragon, and he blows his fire, charring it and flying to catch it mid-air. She takes the rest of the little chunks and throws them for him, as Ser Michael sets up the mattress and clean linens they’d taken from the ship. He won’t be staying at the inn; instead, he’s staying to protect Vhagar, not that anyone is like to stumble upon the ruined stone house in the middle of the woods.

“I still don’t think you should trust this woman,” Ser Michael warns her, and when she ignores him, he presses, “_Visenya-_”

“_Your Grace,_” She is quick to correct him, and almost like he mirrors her mood, Vhagar lets out a screech. She quickly hushes him. “The point of coming here, weeks before Robert Baratheon’s assassination, was so _you_ can deal with the other Tyrells, and I can gain the trust and love of the smallfolk. They are the people of my realm, and I must needs _know_ them, and have them know me. I will not tell Camila who I am; she will remain believing I am a bastard girl from the Reach. Not until I know it is safe. Not until the Usurper is already dead.”

“I have already contacted my brother, Ser Garlan,” Ser Michael assures her, “he will not betray me, I know that much. When I know for sure that my father is failing and the Usurper’s fate is sealed, I will rally the Tyrell swords. Are you sure Varys can secure Dorne for us?”

“The Dornish hate the Lannisters as much as I, and they remained loyal to House Targaryen until the end. They have not forgotten the fate Tywin Lannister gave my mother when he let Gregor Clegane kill my brother and sister in front of her eyes, then defile and murder her too. Oberyn Martell has not forgotten, and I will give The Mountain and Tywin Lannister the fate they deserve. With fire and blood, I will give them that.” She feels the anger burning in her veins as she thinks of it. “He would have killed me the same, if Varys hadn’t smuggled me out of King’s Landing.”

“Princess Elia’s death was unjust, that is true. Lord Tywin is a ruthless man, and Gregor Clegane even more so,” Ser Michael agrees, “but I still do not believe being here is the best course of action. We should have waited in Essos until Robert Baratheon’s death.”

“I will rally the lords and smallfolk alike behind me, and that is why I am here,” she argues, “I do not want the realm to bleed, only the Usurper’s dogs and those who betrayed House Targaryen. That is why I will befriend the smallfolk, starting with the people of the Reach. More importantly, starting with Camila. I must return to the inn now; she is escorting me back to her home.”

“Do not stay with her. You must befriend her, fine, but do not stay with the woman. Stay here, with your dragon and the one you know is true to you,” he insists, “I will keep you safe. I have looked after you my whole life. You are like a daughter to me, and I cannot bear the thought of your death if you mistrust-”

“I know what I am doing,” She argues, “I will return tomorrow. I trust you can hunt and find sufficient food for yourself and my Vhagar?”

“I can, Your Grace,” he reluctantly replies, “at the first _sign_ of anything amiss-”

“I will come to you, ser,” She assures him, before turning out of the heavy iron door and towards the night, “at the first sign of anything amiss.”

-

Enchanting.

That is the only word she would use to describe Lauren, because it’s the effect she has on people. She has been in Ashford for two weeks, and she seems to have enchanted everyone. Men and women alike seem in awe of her, and they see _Camila_ with a newfound respect as well, merely from the association.

Camila is equally as enchanted with her. Alejandro pointed out as much, while she was polishing his armour, but gazing over at Lauren who was helping Sinu in the kitchen. Through the window, she could see the smile on the other woman’s face, and it was clearly too big of a distraction.

She has yet to bed her; while they _share_ a bed every night, Camila feels almost like it would be a dishonour, to try and seduce her. There’s something about the way the older girl carries herself that makes her seem highborn, almost like a proper _lady_, even though Camila knows she’s a bastard, same as her. Camila feels out of her league.

Lauren, however, does not seem to have a care in the world about it. She holds Camila’s hand at every opportunity, and even went as far as to press a kiss to her cheek when Camila had simply poured her a cup of wine. It does not help at all, because Camila is completely under her spell.

As opposed to Sinu’s gruff wakeup call every day, she’s woken this morning by bright lilac eyes and a kiss right on the lips. “Good morning, ser. Do you need help with your tasks, today? I’d like to go down to the market square, but I don’t want to go without you.”

Camila gazes at her, completely awestruck by her beauty. She loves that Lauren always calls her _ser_, even though she’s yet to become a knight. She knows she’s getting a little old to be a squire, but she’ll be knighted when her father deems her ready.

“A squire’s tasks are no place for my lady,” Camila assures her, “I can do them. You rest.”

“I will help you with the horses,” Lauren gets up anyway, naked as her name day, and pulls on her smallclothes, “I love animals, and Thunder and Leo are the gentlest. I find I have a way of taming just about any animal I meet.”

“It’ll be your Valyrian blood,” Camila yawns, admiring the sight as Lauren dresses, “Valyrians were dragonriders, and only those with Valyrian blood can tame dragons. Might be it works on other animals too.”

“Maybe so,” Lauren agrees, and when she pulls on a pair of Camila’s breeches and a tunic, the younger girl’s mouth waters. _She’s in my clothes; might be I should find a septon to marry us._ “Come. Dress. I will tend the horses while you polish your father’s armour.”

“He can handle his armour being a little dusty for one day,” Camila says, but she gets out of bed anyway and dresses herself. “I’ll help you with the horses, and then we can ride into the market square.”

“Ride double?” Lauren asks, and the younger girl nods; while Lauren is a very capable rider, she always seems to prefer riding with Camila, one protective arm around her waist. “Good, ser. We will spend a good time in the market, but then I fear I must meet Ser Michael.”

“Why do you go off with him every night?” Camila asks, the jealousy bubbling to the surface. _She said he was not her husband._ “Where do you go?”

“He is like a father to me,” Lauren replies, almost sensing the jealous rage beneath Camila’s relaxed exterior, “we just spend some quality time together, be it going for a walk, exploring new places.”

Camila hums, deciding to trust the woman. “Okay. He just always seems a little…”

“Sullen?” Lauren finishes for her, laughing lightly. “Yes, he can be like that. He’s very protective.”

“Truly like a father, then,” Camila says, and as they head down to their little stables, she quickly takes Lauren’s hand. “How would he feel if I asked my lady to a private dinner tonight?”

“He definitely wouldn’t like it,” Lauren says, but flashes a smile that borders on a smirk when she says, “but I will.”

“There’s a tavern, a little while down the road. I would like it if we could go there tonight, you and me. I have the coin to buy dinner for us both,” Camila assures her, “as well as some wine.”

Almost like she’s confirming the nature of Camila’s request, Lauren presses a soft kiss right on her mouth and nods. “I would like that. I will cut my plans with Ser Michael short and meet you at this tavern.”

Camila’s job tending to the horses goes much quicker with an extra pair of hands, and skipping the armour all together, she quickly goes to freshen up before she takes Lauren to the market square. While there, Lauren makes more new friends, and says hello to all of the townsfolk, and Camila wonders how a woman such as this is _not_ some regal lady. She knows all of her courtesies, and is kind to everyone, old or young, rich or poor.

_If someone like Lauren were on the Iron Throne, the realm would be a much better place_, Camila thinks to herself, _but it can never be, for she is a bastard, and bastards can never be queens._

Lauren parts from her at the square, going to meet Ser Michael, and Camila almost follows her. _Almost_, but she gives Lauren her trust, and heads back home. She gets a smack around the ear from Alejandro for skipping his armour, but she’s a lot less scolded than she expected to be.

After that, he heads to her bedchamber, and is quick to hunt around for her best clothes to take Lauren out. She picks out her best doublet and breeches, as well as putting on the only jewellery she owns; a golden ring, something she remembers her mother giving to her. On the front, a faded crowned stag is imprinted into it; she assumes her mother gave it to her as a reminder that she’s from the Stormlands, and the Baratheons are the storm lords.

She smooths out her doublet and looks herself over; she goes as far as to sneak into Alejandro and Sinu’s bedchamber and steal some of Sinu’s perfume, to make herself smell sweet. She wonders if Lauren will wear a gown tonight; she’d been borrowing Camila’s clothes recently, preferring breeches and a cotton tunic to her adorable dresses, but this is a date of sorts.

She just hopes all will go well. Lauren is something special, and she knows it.

-

“I need one of my gowns for tonight.” She explains as she goes into the trunk, digging around for something suitable. Lace and silk would not do; she can’t go wandering around like she’s Queen Visenya of House Targaryen. She needs to find one of the cheaper cotton ones, needs to dress like Lauren Flowers, the bastard girl from the Reach.

“You cannot get involved with this girl, Your Grace,” she’d expected Ser Michael’s negative response, “you know you will need to make an alliance by marriage when you take your throne, to solidify your claim.”

_I know. I know and I hate it. _“What’s the harm in having a little fun? It’s just one dinner. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

She finds the dress she was looking for, and sends Ser Michael outside so she can change. She plays with Vhagar, promising him that they can leave soon; they’d received a raven from Varys, telling her that he’d secured Doran Martell’s allegiance, at their offer of vengeance for the murder of her mother, Elia Martell, and her brothers and sisters. The Dornish swords would rise the moment the Usurper was dead, and Ser Michael would reveal himself to the Tyrells. With the power of Highgarden, Dorne, her aunt Daenerys’ power with the Dothraki, and four dragons, she should be able to take King’s Landing and secure the throne, bringing about a new era for House Targaryen.

“Your Grace,” Ser Michael says when he comes back into the ruined house. “You must needs dye your hair again. I see silver bleeding through the black.”

She finds a looking glass, and he’s telling it true; the distinctive silver hair of House Targaryen is shining through the black. “Do we have any dye left?”

She searches through her belongings; she knew she hadn’t used all the dye on the ship. When she finds it, she breathes a sigh of relief, and is quick to cover up the silver, waiting a little while for it to set in.

“Okay,” She says when she’s ready, “I must go. I need to meet Camila.”

“Your Grace,” he stops her as she walks to the door, petting Vhagar on her way out, “be careful.”

Visenya nods. “I will be, ser. You must have faith in your queen.”

She sweeps out of the door, leaving her dragon and her knight behind. She wonders if she could get a bird to Essos; the Storm Crows may be willing to fight for her, since Ser Michael used to be part of their ranks. It would add another two thousand swords to her army, to be sure.

As she walks through the woods, she thinks to herself. _Vhagar_ _is getting stronger. That much is clear. He is much bigger than he was on the ship. Soon he may be big enough to ride._

If the Lannisters do not assassinate the Usurper within the fortnight, it may be possible. Her dragon is growing quickly, and she would be much more useful in battle if she could ride on dragonback; while she is a competent archer, the power of a single dragon is equal to more than a thousand bows. Vhagar knows his commands, and even though he is an unruly creature, he bends to her will, as a Targaryen and the blood of Old Valyria. One word, and she can turn a man into a bonfire.

She finds the tavern easy enough, and Camila is waiting outside for her. The younger girl has her sword belt on, the sword inside sheathed, and she’s grateful for the protection. She’s wearing a flashy doublet, one that looks expensive, and there’s a flashy gold ring on her finger. Visenya of the House Targaryen melts away for Lauren, a bastard of the Reach. She takes her hand, examining it, and feels like she’s been burned. _The crowned stag of Baratheon._

“My mother gave it to me, shortly before she died,” Camila explains, as Lauren tries to keep her face impassive. “I was born in the Stormlands, and I guess since the Baratheons are the lords… she said it was to remind me of who I am.”

“It’s nice,” Lauren comments, dropping Camila’s hand, and she thinks of Ser Michael’s words from a few weeks ago. _She has the Baratheon look_. “After all, everything about you is… beautiful.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Camila offers her arm up, and Lauren takes it, “come. We have a dinner awaiting us.”

As they get inside the tavern, and Camila speaks to the tavern wench, she finds that they’ve got a private room reserved. The gesture, along with everything else Camila had done for her, makes her want to tell her the truth, even if it gets her killed.

_I am Visenya of House Targaryen, Second of My Name, and the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I’m hiding a dragon deep in the forest and as soon as the king is dead I will kill every Baratheon and Lannister I can lay my hands on and take my throne with fire and blood. Dorne will rise for me, along with Highgarden and all their banners, and my aunt Daenerys will fly Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion from Meereen to Dragonstone along with a fleet of ships full of near ten thousand Dothraki screamers to take back the ancient seat of House Targaryen. _

But she keeps her mouth shut as Camila escorts her into the private room, and pulls out her chair for her, as gallant as the knight she will one day be. Lauren has plans to knight her, once she tells her the truth. Possibly even naming her one of her seven in the Queensguard.

“I have ordered us the lamprey pie. It is so rich, and I believe that it’s the best in the Seven Kingdoms, along with the tarts we will have for dessert,” Camila says from across the table, “I truly thank the Seven for the lemon cakes, as well.”

“I am sure it is lovely,” Lauren compliments; she has never had a lack of food, and has tasted many delicacies from across the world. But because this is Camila’s favourite, she knows it will have a special place in her heart. “As are you.”

Camila bites down on her bottom lip and sends her a softer kind of smile. “My lady… I don’t know what brought you to Ashford, but I’m glad you are here. Meeting you has been the highlight of possibly my whole life, and I was hoping- I know that in Westeros, the concept of two women being together in the way that-”

“Camila,” she cuts her off, and sends her a reassuring smile across the table. _This could work. I could have her. If she truly is a Baratheon bastard, I could legitimise her, and nobody would say she’s too lowborn for me. An heir would be the only complication. _Deep down, she knows that feelings are making her stupid, but she cannot help herself. “I would love to be yours, and be had by you.”

“Okay. That’s… that is good,” Camila murmurs, mostly to herself, before she’s back to the gallant knight, “I know that most relationships in this world aren’t out of true feelings, and more relationships of duty, but you and I… we have no obligations like that. We’re both lowborn, both bastards, and we owe nothing to nobody but ourselves. And I want to live my life for _myself_.”

_If only that were true_. “I too would like to live for myself.” _But I have a duty. A duty to the realm to take my crown from those who stole it, and reinstate the Seven Kingdoms to their rightful Targaryen ruler._

Camila grabs her cup of wine, filling Lauren’s from the flagon on the table, “To us, and many more candlelit dinners.”

Lauren clinks her cup against Camila’s, and wonders if this woman is someone she can trust.

-

“I will admit, the wine went to my head more than I thought it would,” Camila chuckles atop Thunder on their ride home. “But I very much enjoyed my dinner. Did you, my lady?”

“Yes,” Lauren leans back against her, and the younger woman nuzzles her, kissing her neck, her cheek, her jaw, “I very much enjoy you and your company.”

Camila smirks. “I think when we get home, we will be enjoying much more of each other. Truth be told, I have wanted to enjoy you since that first day we met. And when you started sleeping in my bed, naked as your name day… you do not know how hard it has been to restrain myself.”

As they dismount the horse in the little stables, Lauren takes her hands, pulling her close. “I never wanted you to restrain yourself. Do you think I would sleep naked with a woman I did not wish to court me?”

“I- my love,” Camila stammers, before she remembers herself; she has done this a thousand times, with many of the women in Ashford, most of them wives, curious as to what being with a woman would be like. But this time it means something. This time, Lauren has agreed to be her lady. “Let me escort you upstairs.”

Taking her by the arm, she walks the woman up the familiar staircase, as chivalrous as a knight should be. As she closes her bedroom door behind her, she presses the woman up against it. “Is this okay?”

Lauren bows her head in a sweet submission. “I am your lady, and you can do with me as you please.”

“Then I would like to relieve my lady of her gown. In the bedchamber, you need not wear anything.” Camila murmurs as she unlaces the woman’s gown and lets it drop to the floor. The sight of her is so sweet that Camila wishes to never see anything else. Just this, just Lauren, her _lady_, naked and waiting for her. “Come, sweetling. To the bed. But first I will take those smallclothes off you.”

Lauren’s cheeks are flushed and her lilac eyes are full of a dark hunger as Camila takes her smallclothes off her and tosses them across the room. She pulls her in for a gentle kiss, and then her sweet lady murmurs, “You are as chivalrous as anything, my knight.”

As Camila pushes her down to her bed, she smiles to herself. _I may not be a knight yet, but I am one to her, and that is what matters._

-

She was worried it would make things weird. But if anything, it has made things _better._

She bedded Lauren, the night of their dinner together at the tavern. Usually, when she beds a woman, they never talk again. Mostly it’s on her; the women she’s slept with often steal glances at her from across the market square, but with Lauren, it’s different. Lauren is still staying at her house, sharing her bed, spending her days exploring Ashford with her. And every night, Camila beds her before they sleep, kissing her between her thighs as well as on her lips.

It’s different, but it’s a _good_ different.

“I must go and meet Ser Michael,” Lauren tells her one day when they wake, “he and I need to talk. I will-”

“Let me join you, my lady,” Camila quickly asks. She definitely wants to be part of Lauren’s _inner circle._ “You know you can trust me, and whatever you and Ser Michael are in Ashford for… I’d like to be part of it.”

“He is merely returning from Highgarden, my knight,” Lauren says, and Camila’s heart flutters at the title, “I am just going to ask how he fared looking for service. You need not join me.”

“Alright. Well, I was going to go practice my archery.” Camila quickly excuses. “I’m better skilled with a sword, but archery has its uses-”

“I will join you. Ser Michael can wait,” Lauren suddenly decides, pushing the sheets off herself, naked as her name day as she stands and finds a pair of Camila’s breeches to wear. “I would like to see how good a marksman my knight is.”

Camila blushes, because it’s definitely not her best area. Her aim is sometimes off, and she can never determine how tight she should pull the bowstring. “I’m afraid you may find yourself disappointed, my lady. Like I said, I am better skilled with a sword.”

“Still. I would like to see,” Lauren says, and Camila cannot deny her anything, not when she looks into the lilac of her eyes. “Come. Let’s go.”

She gets herself ready, along with Lauren, and she grabs her father’s bow as they mount Thunder. She lets Lauren hold the bow as they ride, and she makes sure to take the woman into the woods, where they can shoot at trees. The armoury where her father practices is full of knights and Tyrell men-at-arms who are less than chivalrous, particularly towards Camila. They believe that women have no place training with sword and lance and bows, and she can imagine how sleazy they would be with a beautiful woman like Lauren in her company. They would treat her like a common whore, and Camila would be forced to put her sword through their backs.

(She’s never killed a man before, even though she knows one day she must. Killing to protect the weak is part of being a knight.)

“I think here seems like a good spot.” Camila says, dismounting the horse and helping Lauren down. She pulls an arrow from the quiver on her back, and notches it when Lauren passes her the bow.

She’s nervous, with the older woman looking at her. She knows that Lauren has never seen her use her sword, which would make her look much more impressive. She hesitates before drawing, looking for a good target, eventually settling on a point on a tree trunk about eighteen yards away.

With a nervous smile at the older girl, she draws the bow, and looses unintentionally, her hand shaking from the anxiety she feels. She misses her target, but the arrow lodges itself into the tree’s trunk all the same, and Lauren applauds her.

“Nice shot, ser,” She compliments, before she holds out her hand for the bow. “May I try?”

Camila hands her the bow, wondering if Lauren will let her show her how to use it. She plucks an arrow from the quiver, and Lauren notches it, looking around for a target. Camila is quick to choose one for her. She scurries forwards, picking up a half-rotten apple from the forest floor, and placing it on the stump of a tree a few feet away from Lauren. “There. Shoot at that.”

Lauren raises her eyebrows. “Too easy. Do you trust me, ser?”

Camila nods instantly. “Always, my lady.”

“Stand against that tree over there. Put the apple on your head.”

At the words, Camila raises her eyebrows. She _trusts_ her, but she doesn’t think someone like Lauren would be that good of an archer, and she doesn’t exactly want to meet the gods yet. But she takes the apple from the tree stump and stands up against the other tree. When she looks into Lauren’s lilac eyes, she thinks, _she definitely has some Targaryen blood. This must be their madness shining through._

“Camz,” Lauren says, and the younger girl blinks at the nickname, “you can trust me.”

Sighing, Camila balances the apple on the top of her head, pressing her back against the trees. As Lauren notches the arrow and draws the bow, she squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see the arrowhead coming towards her, not wanting to _see_ her last moments, if it comes to that.

But then she hears the arrow sail and the loud _thrum_ of it hitting its mark. When she steps away from the tree, unscathed but her heart beating heavily in her chest, she looks at the older girl in shock. “You… you’re an archer?”

“I am useless with a sword, I confess,” Lauren says as Camila steps back to her side, staring at the apple lodged into the tree. Lauren notches, draws, and looses the second arrow, and it _thrums_ into place right next to the first. “But growing up; Essos still has slavery, in some places like Pentos and Lys. Ser Michael thought it best I learn to defend myself, and I took to archery more so than swordplay.”

Not thinking about it, Camila pulls the woman in for a kiss. Lauren smiles against her lips, kissing her back, the bow in one hand and the other cupping Camila’s jaw. When she parts from her, she shrugs the quiver of arrows off and offers it up to the older girl. “You are… even more perfect than I already thought, my lady.”

Lauren smiles, but when a twig snaps, she’s quick to notch another arrow and draw the bowstring tight. “Behind me, ser.”

Camila draws her sword from its scabbard, grateful that she always carries it around, and when she hears the sound again, she murmurs, “these woods have shadowcats within, but normally they do not come out until nightfall.”

“Most like, it is a person,” Lauren murmurs back, and as the bushes part ahead of them, she almost looses the arrow at the man. But then the bow lowers, and Lauren sighs. “Ser Michael. We thought you were a shadowcat.”

Camila sheaths her sword at the older knight, but she doesn’t like the dirty look he fixes her with. “I was just returning to the inn, Your- my lady.”

Camila blinks at the hesitation. _Was he going to call Lauren ‘Your Grace’? That’s a title for royalty. _“What are you doing out in the woods? The inn is on the kingsroad, and easy enough to find from Highgarden.”

“It is not your place to question a knight,” Ser Michael snaps, “you are a common gutter rat and-”

“Ser Michael,” Lauren practically growls, purple eyes blazing with a certain kind of fire. Camila goes back to her thought from before; _maybe she truly is descended from the Targaryens, or possibly a Blackfyre. There is a certain fire in her. _“You have no right to speak to my… my _woman_ like that.”

If anything, Ser Michael looks angrier. “Your _woman_?”

Camila can almost understand his fury; the first time her father found out that she had bedded a woman, he had shouted at her too. But eventually, Alejandro and Sinu both had come to understand that it was just the way Camila was made. Obviously this is the first Ser Michael is hearing about Lauren’s tastes, but she had told Camila she bedded men and women both in Essos.

“My good ser,” Camila quickly intervenes before Lauren can say anything, “I understand that this may be hard for you to comprehend, a woman falling in love with your… well, Lauren is a daughter to you, so your daughter. But I promise, I will treat her as chivalrously as any knight would-”

“_You_ have no understanding of anything at all, and _you_,” Ser Michael whirls around on Lauren, taking her wrist, “you will come with me. This _plan_ of yours-”

Lauren pulls her arm away and smacks the knight across the cheek. “Do not presume to touch me.”

The words chill Camila to the bone, and they aren’t even directed towards her. As Lauren glares at Ser Michael, Camila feels like there’s something different about her, like there’s been some kind of _switch_. All around Ashford town, people have come to know Lauren as the sweet bastard girl from somewhere in the Reach, the one who is gentle and kind to everyone no matter what their station, but _this_? This is someone else entirely.

“_You_ are pledged to _me_. Not the other way around,” Lauren reminds the man, who looks down in shame. “Camila is here to stay. That is the end of the matter, ser. Good day to you.”

With that final forced courtesy, she takes Camila’s hand and tugs her back to Thunder. Camila unties their mount, and jumps into the saddle behind Lauren, taking one last look behind her at Ser Michael, who is watching them with something almost like _despair._

As they ride away, out of the forest on Thunder’s back, Camila turns and watches the knight’s shape grow smaller and smaller until he’s out of sight, and goes back to wondering why he was in the woods in the first place.

She decides that she doesn’t trust Ser Michael one bit.

-

“You are lucky that I don’t let Vhagar roast you for his dinner for your _disobedience,_” she snaps as she lets the heavy door of the desolate house slam behind her. She turns on the knight, the man who is almost a father to her, but only _almost_. Nobody could replace Rhaegar Targaryen. “Never belittle me in front of people like that again. I appreciate your counsel, ser, but not like _that._”

“She is supposed to believe that I am your father. Am I supposed to kneel and call you _Your Grace?_” The knight rebukes, but when Vhagar lets out a deadly hiss and creeps forwards from the shadows, he is quick to kneel. “I am sorry, my queen. But you must know you cannot get involved with this peasant girl. When you take your throne, you must needs secure it with a marriage pact. You must take a husband from another one of the great Houses. I heard from Garlan that Ser Loras is unwed, but it would be a good idea to marry a Stark, as to keep the north from rising against you.”

“I do not want to wed a Stark. Nor your younger brother, Ser Loras.” She turns on her heel towards the door, pacing back and forth across the empty stone manse. Vhagar follows her, and she starts to fret when she looks at the blue and silver dragon; he is larger, _much_ larger in comparison to when they smuggled him here in her clothing chest. Soon he will be too big for the desolate house, and if the Usurper is not dead by then, she does not know how she can hide him.

“Your Grace, you know that sometimes queens do not get to do what they want,” Ser Michael reminds her, “you knew you would have to secure your throne, not only with fire and blood but with marriage too.”

“She is one of the Usurper’s bastards. I am certain of it.” She paces back and forth, until she finally collapses onto Ser Michael’s dirty mattress. “I can legitimise her. Then I can wed for duty and for love.”

“_Love_?” Ser Michael almost _scoffs_. “Your Grace, you have known this woman little over a month-”

“I am not _saying_ that I love her. Not yet. But I am certain that… that I could feel that.” She thinks of Camila as the blue and silver dragon curls up next to her, his head on her lap. She traces her fingers across his scales; he is warm to the touch, and instantly a comfort. “With time.”

“You cannot.” Ser Michael says with finality. “Things are different in Essos, I know, but Westeros will never accept a queen wed to another queen.”

“My ancestors wed brother to sister for centuries, and the high lords and commons alike ignored it. My own namesake wed her brother, Aegon the Conqueror, and bore Maegor the Cruel.” She is quick to argue. “They overlooked it for our Valyrian roots, and Valyrians have married woman to woman and man to man before. It would bring forth a new era between Targaryen and Baratheon.”

“If the girl is truly one of the Usurper’s bastards,” Ser Michael reminds her, “Visenya-”

“Your Grace,” She quickly corrects him, “you are getting too _comfortable_, Ser Michael. Perhaps I should let Vhagar take a finger or two to remind you of your place?”

“And succumb to the brutality and madness of past Targaryens? You are not your grandfather, nor is Daenerys her father,” Ser Michael argues, “and if you wed this girl, if she _is_ a Baratheon bastard, there is the issue of an heir.”

“If the _maegi_ told it false to Daenerys, then she will bear children, and the Targaryen line will continue through her.” She insists; the words of a _maegi_ are not to be trusted. “Or I could _choose_ my own heir, someone I know to be good and just.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Michael sighs, “I fear you are blinded by feeling for this false knight. You do not even know if you can trust her.”

“That, ser, I do know,” She is quick to tell him. If there’s anything she’s learned from her time in Ashford, it’s that she can trust Camila with her life. “Now, tell me. Did you secure the Tyrell allegiance from your trip to Highgarden?”

“My brother, Ser Garlan Tyrell, has assured me that swords will rise for House Targaryen when the time is right. And my mother, the Lady Olenna, has been praying for the return of the dragons; she believes that Robert Baratheon is nothing more than a fat old drunk.” Ser Michael reports, and that at least gives her some relief. “There was a bird from Varys, too. He writes that King Robert has gone on his usual boar hunting trip, with a sweet skin full of his favourite vintage.”

“Poison? The Lannister woman plans on using _poison_?” She finds that incredibly stupid. “Does she not know it can be traced? A dagger through the heart would be easier.”

“If the Usurper gets hurt hunting a boar, the poison which dulled his senses would never be traced. Everyone would see the boar rip his belly open and call that the manner of death,” Ser Michael tells her, “Varys promised to send word once the Usurper is dead, to you and Daenerys both. She will know to set her sights on Dragonstone, and the Tyrell and Dornish armies will set siege on King’s Landing. With you on Vhagar, burning the gates for us and flying to the Red Keep to stamp out your enemies, the city will fall within a day.”

She picks up the looking glass again, and sees the traces of silver in her hair; the dye is easy to wash out. “I will be relieved to not have to bother with covering up the silver. It seems determined to shine through and betray me.”

Ser Michael passes her the rest of the black dye. “Best wash it out for the attack on King’s Landing. The sight of silver hair on dragonback will rally the smallfolk to our cause, no doubt.”

Thinking of the smallfolk, she asks. “And the Tyrell and Dornish armies know not to sack the city? I will not have a repeat of what happened the night of my escape, with babes murdered at the breast and their mothers beaten and defiled. This war is for the high lords. The smallfolk care not when we play our game of thrones, and I do not want innocent blood spilled in my realm.”

Ser Michael smiles. “I am sure that the smallfolk of Ashford will tell tales near and far of the months Queen Visenya of House Targaryen spent among them before she came into her throne, and of how good and just she was.”

“Yes,” She agrees, thinking, _and of how Camila of House Baratheon lived among them for years. _“Yes, they will.”

-

“My love, I am afraid that I do not trust your Ser Michael.”

Lauren merely laughs. “Do not worry, Camz. Ser Michael is harmless, and I would trust him with mine own life.”

“I know he is like a father figure to you, but the way he spoke to you about me,” Camila continues, “I don’t like it, Lo.”

Instead of commenting on her worries, Lauren merely shuffles closer to her in Camila’s bed, and murmurs, “Lo?”

“I- a nickname,” Camila stammers, shaking her head, “My _point_ is-”

“I understand what your point is, my love,” Lauren assures her, fingers tracing across the skin of Camila’s stomach, “you need not worry. I assure you of that.”

Camila sighs, but nods, trusting Lauren. “Okay. So long as you have confidence in him.”

Lauren smiles. “I do. Very much so. He has protected me since I was four years old.”

“Wait,” Camila thinks, doing the sums in her head, realising something, “You are two-and-twenty now? Eighteen years. Were your parents killed in Robert’s Rebellion?”

Lauren bites down on her bottom lip, taking Camila’s hand and answering her question with a curt nod. “My father was killed in the fighting. My mother was killed when our village was sacked, along with my younger brother and sister.”

Camila wraps her arms around the beautiful woman. She kisses the top of her head, murmuring, “I’m so sorry. That’s why you don’t like the Baratheon rule, isn’t it? Do you remember them?”

“I am sorry. I told you it false on the day we met; I claimed I never knew them, but I did. That’s what makes it hurt more.” Lauren mumbles, “If I never remembered them, or anything about them, it wouldn’t be so bad to be without them. But I remember what they were like. I remember that my father used a harp, and he would sing to me almost every night. My mother would always tell me and my siblings stories about knights and princesses, like Florian the Fool and his sweet Jonquil. I remember being happy.”

Camila frowns. “And you’re not happy now?”

“I am. Now I’ve met you.” Lauren kisses Camila’s cheek, “It’s been a long time since I felt like this, like I _belong_ with someone. And I do love Ser Michael like a father, but he could never replace my real one.”

“I understand that. I don’t _really_ remember my father, but there are parts of him still there,” Camila replies, kissing Lauren’s forehead again. She pushes herself up and yawns, “Alright. I need to get up and tend to the horses.”

“Okay,” Lauren smiles, letting go of her hand. “Do you need help?”

“You don’t have to help me, but your company is much appreciated,” Camila smiles, and they get ready together, their perfect morning routine. Camila admires the woman’s naked body as she pulls on her smallclothes and a pair of her breeches; seeing her in _her_ clothes always drives Camila a little crazy.

As they head down to the stables, Sinu stops them. “Might be it’s best you don’t go out today. The town is in unrest.”

Camila pauses at the cottage door. “What?”

“We’re worried there may be rioting. Looting, mayhaps.” Sinu explains. She glances around, as if she’s worried someone is listening in, before murmuring, “Robert Baratheon is dead. Killed by a boar on a hunt.”

“_What_?” Camila looks to Lauren, and she’s shocked when the older woman is tugging on her boots. _Riding_ boots. “Wait, Lauren, we shouldn’t go out. The king is dead, and likely or not outlaws might-”

“I have to go,” Lauren ties her laces and puts her hand on the doorhandle, “I will return soon to explain, but I have to go.”

“No, I’m not letting you go out there alone,” Camila quickly tugs on her own boots, chasing Lauren to the stables and watching as the older girl tries to untie Thunder, “Hey, _no_, get off my horse-”

“Fine, I’ll take Leo,” Lauren quickly unties the other horse, mounting the saddle and tugging at the reins. But Leo knows Camila’s voice, and when she calls him to a halt, he listens to her command. “_Camila._ I have to _go_.”

“You aren’t going out there when there could be _outlaws_ and _looting_ and worse.” Camila firmly replies, “You don’t even have a bow with you.”

The older woman sighs, “You can’t stop me.”

“Fine, I’m coming with you. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to get out there, but it’s not _safe_, my lady. When a king dies, there is always unrest until the next one ascends the throne.” Camila argues. “It may be different in Essos, but-”

“_I command you to stay_,” Lauren snaps, the same person she saw snapping at Ser Michael last week shining through. “I will return later and explain-”

“You do not command me.” Camila firmly replies, and mounts her horse and follows the older girl as she spurs Leo on. “If you’re going out, you need me and my sword to protect you.”

Lauren’s lilac eyes are blazing with… it looked like anger, at first, but now it’s more frustration. After a stand off, and trying to push Leo faster, but failing to lose Camila even a _little_ bit, she sighs. “Alright. Fine.”

Camila smiles satisfactorily. “Do you need to find Ser Michael? Because we’re going the wrong way to the inn.”

“He’s not at the inn.” Lauren straight-forwardly replies, and Camila wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that they saw Ser Michael lurking around in the woods, when Lauren had almost put an arrow through him. “Come.”

She pushes Leo further into the woods, and Camila follows her, grateful that Thunder is so sure-footed on such uneven ground. As they get to the clearing they’d practiced archery in last week, Lauren dismounts her horse and ties his reins to a tree. “We walk the rest of the way. The woods are too thick for horses.”

She says it like she _knows_ the woods, like she’s explored them at length, and Camila wonders if _this_ is where she disappears off to with Ser Michael so often. But why would a hedge knight and his adoptive bastard daughter meet so secretly in the woods?

She dismounts her horse too, tying Thunder up by Leo, and following Lauren through the thicker trees. She pulls her sword from its scabbard, just in case, because it is never too safe to wander around Westeros as a woman, especially unarmed. If they ran into a band of outlaws, too big for her to take alone, Camila may have to use her sword on herself and Lauren, as opposed to fighting.

Lauren takes a sharp left, through some bushes and Camila quickly follows, but she’s not quick enough. Before she can make any kind of move, an unwashed, unkempt man proudly wearing a scruffy doublet with the crowned stag of Baratheon on it jumps the older girl, pushing her down into the dirt.

“I know what you are,” the man says, pulling a dagger from seemingly nowhere and pressing it against Lauren’s throat. “I heard you. Talking with your knight, yesterday. I know what you _did_ to our king-”

His words are cut off by the blood he coughs up when Camila’s sword pushes its way through his back and out his belly. Lauren pushes the man off, and he struggles as his life’s blood pours out of him and onto the crisp leaves on the forest floor.

Lauren pushes herself up, her lilac eyes wide in shock, the man’s blood splattered on her tunic. “I- _thank_ you.”

Camila stares at the dead man with a sick kind of fascination. She’s never taken a life before, and even though she doesn’t _regret it_, because she _knows_ the man would’ve killed Lauren given half the chance, it’s still _weird._ She feels wrong for it, even though she knows he was scum.

“What- what did he mean?” Camila looks at the older girl in a stunned reverie. “I… when he said you did something to the king…”

Camila frowns, sheathing her sword as she stares at the dead man, the crowned stag of Baratheon emblazoned on his chest. She glances back at Lauren, her eyes wide with shock, and the older girl’s mouth works like she can’t figure out what to say.

Eventually, she finds her voice. “I was named for the sister of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, the First of her Name. My father Rhaegar wanted to complete the original triad, and as his firstborn daughter, he named me for Visenya, the eldest of Aegon’s sisters. I’m… I am sorry. I never know if- if I can trust people, and even once I was sure I _could_... but it doesn’t matter.”

Camila blinks, looking from the dead man to the woman she thought she knew, realising what her words mean. She’d known she had some Valyrian blood, obviously, but the Targaryens had hair of silvery-white, and Lauren definitely did not. It’s enough to bring forth disbelief.

“Are you saying that you’re a _Targaryen_? A trueborn Targaryen?” Camila raises her eyebrows, shaking her head. _No, that can’t be right. The Mountain, Gregor Clegane, killed all of Rhaegar’s children; their bodies were laid out at the foot of Robert’s throne when he took it_. “All of the Targaryens are dead, Lauren.”

“My name isn’t _Lauren_,” The older girl snaps, pulling her away from the dead man, deeper into the forest, “I am Visenya of the House Targaryen, the Second of my Name, daughter of Prince Rhaegar the last dragon, the blood of Old Valyria and the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Camila blinks, before she snorts with laughter. “Yeah, okay.”

“_Camila_. Please, if you don’t believe me, come with me,” Lauren holds out her hand, and Camila takes it, “I have to show you something.”

She sees the true desperation in Lauren’s eyes then, and she bites down on her bottom lip, nodding. _She can’t be a Targaryen, Rhaegar’s children were murdered by The Mountain. _

_But think about what she told you only just this morning, _Camila reminds herself, _her father was killed fighting in the rebellion, but before he died he would sing and play the harp for her. Rhaegar Targaryen was killed by Robert Baratheon on the Trident, and he was known across the Seven Kingdoms for preferring his harp to his sword. Rhaegar had three children, it is true, Visenya, Rhaenys and the babe Aegon, but they were all _killed_. Everyone in King’s Landing during the sack saw their butchered bodies; their heads were crushed in and they were practically unrecognisable._

_They were practically unrecognisable,_ she realises, and when she looks at the older woman, she finally notices the silvery white hair bleeding through the black dye.

She doesn’t know what to think when Lauren slams her whole body against a heavy iron door on an otherwise dilapidated house, deep in the forest. She pushes it open just enough for a person to squeeze through, and disappears inside, pulling Camila with her.

Despite the sunlight outside, the run-down house is so dark that Camila can hardly see her hand in front of her face.

“Vhagar?”

Camila raises her eyebrows, and she almost laughs when there’s no kind of response. The empty stone house remains empty and dark. Until she hears hissing. It’s low at first, and sounds almost like a snake, but she knows that there aren’t any in this forest. She steps back towards the door on instinct, and her heart almost stops when a dragon the size of a horse and carriage crawls out of the darkness. The blue and silver dragon lets out a screech, and Lauren holds out her hand for it to come closer. “Are you _crazy?_”

“Aren’t all of us Targaryens supposed to be crazy?” The older girl quips, petting the dragon, lighting a candle and placing it on the floor by a worn mattress that by all accounts shouldn’t be there. “Vhagar, this is Camila. She’s my… my woman.”

Camila stares at the dragon, and the older girl sends her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. Not unless I command it.”

“So, just- hold on, let me… let me think this through,” Camila collapses onto the mattress in the corner, and when Lauren sits next to her, the dragon tries to curl up in her lap, but he’s far too big. “So… your name is Visenya Targaryen, you’re the true heir to the Iron Throne, and for some reason, you’re- you’ve spent all your time for the last two months with me? Aren’t you supposed to be _dead_? All of Rhaegar’s children were killed.”

“Varys smuggled me out of King’s Landing during the sack and destroyed an already dead child’s corpse, to pass it off as me,” Lauren tells her, “my brother Aegon and sister Rhaenys were with my mother, in the nursery in Maegor’s Holdfast, when the Mountain found them. If I had been with them, I’d be dead too. But Varys smuggled me out through a passage in my bedchamber when my grandfather, the Mad King, opened the gates to the Lannisters, thinking them friends, not foes. He put me on a ship to Essos with Ser Michael of the House Tyrell, along with my father’s sister, the babe Princess Daenerys and her older brother Prince Viserys, and I have been living across the sea for the last eighteen years. I am here to take back my throne. And now the Usurper is dead, it is time to strike. Ser Michael is raising the Tyrell banners as we speak, and the Dornish will march too. I will ride Vhagar to the Red Keep and extinguish the House Baratheon for good and true. But luckily for me, I have stumbled upon a bastard of Robert Baratheon. And bastards can be legitimised by queens.”

Camila blinks in confusion, still not entirely sure she believes the woman’s story. “Oh? Well, um… I know I’m just a common squire, but I’d like to help. If you were on the Iron Throne… I know the world would be greater. Who is the Baratheon bastard?”

“You are.” Lauren says simply, and Camila is hit with yet another bombshell, and another thing she can’t quite believe. “You told me your mother gave you a ring, with the crowned stag on it. She told you to remember who you were. What of your father? Do you have any clear memories of him?”

“A man with blue eyes and black hair. He was… kind. From what I remember. Always had a glass of wine in his hand,” Camila frowns in thought, because she knows her father can’t be Robert Baratheon. “But he wasn’t the king. My father; he was a lean man, strong, not the fat drunk that sat the Iron Throne.”

“You think that fat drunk killed my father?” Lauren scoffs, “Rhaegar Targaryen would not have been defeated by the man who sat the Iron Throne yesterday. But eighteen years ago, Robert Baratheon was strong. The man you remember was the man who killed my father.”

“Oh,” Camila manages to stammer out, and when Vhagar lifts his head, smoke pouring from his nostrils, she blurts out, “are you going to set your dragon on me, now?”

“What? No.” Lauren frowns, and the dragon flutters away when she stands, “You’re not merely Camila, a squire to a knight in service of House Tyrell. You are Camila of the House Baratheon, and you will be Lady of Storm’s End when I am done with this war. Queens can legitimise bastards, and I am your rightful queen.”

Camila frowns, and when the blue and silver dragon approaches her, she backs away slightly. “I’m sorry, can I just have _five_ minutes to process this?”

“Of course,” Lauren sits back down again, watching with mild amusement as Camila cringes away from Vhagar. “I told you he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Unless you commanded it,” Camila finishes, looking at the creature warily, “and I’m sorry, I’m not exactly expecting to see a living _dragon_. They died centuries ago, and I did not believe the tales from the east of Daenerys Targaryen- wait… she’s your aunt. Right? Even though she’s younger than you, since Rhaegar was already a man grown when she was born. Why isn’t _she_ here to help you?”

“She will have already landed on Dragonstone by now and taken the fleet that waits in its ports from Stannis Baratheon, the Usurper’s brother, as well as the castle itself. She is the rightful Lady of Dragonstone, after all,” Lauren points out, “I am sure that Renly Baratheon will try and raise his banners, rallying the lesser Storm Lords, but with the swords that I command, it should not be hard to beat them in the field. Especially when the dragons join the fight. They will bend the knee sooner or later. This war is as good as won.”

“I-” Camila starts, but when she hears distant warhorns, she jumps up, “I have to go- my father, he will be in battle, and I’m-”

“No longer a squire. You are the Lady of Storm’s End.” Lauren interrupts her, and as Camila looks to the door, she asks, “Do I have your sword, ser?”

She stares at the woman she thought she knew, into the lilac eyes of her _future queen_, and she doesn’t know what to say. For a moment, she doesn’t want to believe any of it; she wants them to go back to being Camila and Lauren, not Camila and _Visenya Targaryen_, but when she sees the silver roots in the black hair, and the dragon at the woman’s side, she can’t deny it.

She pulls her sword from its scabbard, and kneels before her queen. “I am yours, my lady. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if needs be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

“I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth and meat and mead at my table,” Lauren recites, the corners of her mouth tilting up into a slight smile, “and I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you into dishonour. I swear it, by the old gods and the new. Arise.”

Camila stands, sheathing her sword, and her heart flutters when Lauren presses a gentle kiss to her lips. _She does not care that I am too lowborn for her. _“You still…”

“I will always want you, Camila. Camila of House Baratheon,” Lauren reminds her. _Oh, yes, she legitimised me. _“I will give you the royal decree once I take my throne. Now, ser. Find Ser Michael; he is first of my Queensguard, and fight by his side with the rest of the Tyrell swords. Or find Alejandro if that please you more. We are marching to King’s Landing at this moment. And do not, under any circumstances, _die._ Or I will have you killed for disobeying your queen’s command.”

She laughs at the jest, and squeezes Lauren’s hand. _Visenya’s hand. Her name isn’t Lauren, and she’s not just some lowborn bastard from the Reach. _“I’m going to have to think of a new nickname for you. _Lo_ doesn’t work…”

“No. I like it.” Lauren assures her, kissing her again, “To you, I think I must always be Lauren. And I like that.”

Camila throws her arms around the older girl, holding her tight. “Where will you be while we march on King’s Landing?”

Lauren smirks. “You need only look up to answer that question.”

-

A raven arrives at the broken stone manse as she is washing the black dye from her hair.

Camila had left shortly before, running to don her armour and meet Ser Michael or Alejandro in the field. She understands battles, and how uncertain they are, and hopes to see the woman again. She knows she would be devastated should she die, but she tries to push the morbid thought from her mind.

_When we are reunited, I will propose a marriage between us,_ she thinks to herself, _there is no cause for Ser Michael to tell me I cannot. I have legitimised her, she is a Baratheon now, and a marriage pact between Targaryen and Baratheon will set aside the quarrels of the last two decades. I want to marry her, and I must._

She takes the scroll from the raven’s leg, and sees the sigil pressed into the unbroken wax. _Varys._ Breaking the seal, she reads the letter through, and if anything, it could not have more good tidings.

_Your Grace,_

_Robert was killed by a boar on his hunt. This will be stale news to you by the time this raven reaches Ashford. The wine he was drinking, served to him by his squire, Lancel Lannister, made his reactions slow, but none think of that when they see a belly torn open by a beast. _

_Since the king’s passing, Lord Eddard Stark discovered the truth of the children who are called Baratheon but look so very Lannister. They are bastards, born of incest between Cersei and her brother Jaime. Jon Arryn learned just as much before his untimely illness and passing. Honourable as he is, Lord Stark told Cersei he had the knowledge and told her to leave the city, but as the king is dead, she had no qualms throwing him in a black cell and calling his accusations treason._

_Daenerys has taken Dragonstone back for House Targaryen and Stannis Baratheon’s fate is uncertain. The time to strike is now. Do not let the realm bleed._

She reads the letter through three times before she allows herself a smile at its contents. _They have thrown Stark into a cell. Now who will he stand with? The Lannisters, who jailed him for treason, or the Targaryens, who will allow him to keep his lands and titles after his betrayal to the crown in Robert’s rebellion, and return to Winterfell with envoys for safe passage? _

And Robert’s trueborn children turning out to be bastards in their own right? Nothing could secure her claim to the throne more.

She burns the scroll, and when the last of the dye is washed from her hair, she glances on her form in the looking glass, and finds she quite liked the black. Looking to her dragon, and then to the little door he’s far too big to get out of now, she smiles. “_Dracarys._”

He blows the door if its hinges, and the front wall of the little stone manse collapses in on itself, leaving a gap wide enough for the dragon to push himself through. She throws open the chest that contains all her gowns and jewels – things too lavish for the common girl she was posing as to have – and digs to the bottom, where wrapped in an unassuming wool dress is her crown.

She dons it for the first time in months, feeling the weight of it on her brow. She catches herself in the looking glass again. _I am Queen Visenya of the House Targaryen once more._

As the warhorns sound again to the east, she leaves the ruin of a house for the final time and mounts the blue and silver dragon.

“_Sōves.”_

At the single Valyrian command, the dragon spreads his wings and flies.

-

When she rides back into Ashford, atop Thunder and pulling Leo by the reins behind her, she rides into words of war, and confirmation of what Lauren had told her. Daenerys Targaryen had taken Dragonstone back, and her forces were joining that of the Tyrell and Dornish armies on a march to King’s Landing. They should reach the city in a matter of days.

“It’s a Targaryen restoration,” She hears a friend of hers, Normani, explain to the girl with her. Normani sees her, and calls, “Camila! Where’s Lauren? Does she know it’s war?”

“Lauren is not Lauren after all,” Camila tells her, “Lauren is Visenya Targaryen, Rhaegar’s daughter, come to take the throne back for her House.”

She hears the mutterings as she rides through, her word spreading, some not quite believing that the kind bastard girl is actually a trueborn Targaryen and the heir to the Iron Throne. That is until the sound of wings, and a loud screech unheard in Westeros for _centuries_ sounds in the sky.

She recognises Vhagar’s colours as the dragon flies over Ashford market square, and instead of Lauren’s dark, unruly mane of hair, she sees a flash of silver atop the beast. _A trueborn Targaryen_, she thinks to herself as Vhagar soon becomes a speck in the distance.

She stops by the home she has known for eleven years of her life, and quickly ties Leo up safely. Sinu comes out of the door, gasping, “Camila, a _dragon_-”

“Mother,” Camila is quick to tell her the truth, “we have been housing the rightful heir to the Iron Throne for the last two moon’s turns. Lauren is Rhaegar Targaryen’s daughter Visenya.”

As she closes the stable door, Sinu pulls her back, hand on her wrist. She expects some questioning words, but all she gets is a mother’s concern. “Camila. Please be safe. Your father, he is with the other Tyrell men-at-arms, there’s talk of war and I can’t lose you both.”

Camila promises herself inwardly that if Lauren truly takes the throne, and she really _is_ Robert Baratheon’s daughter, she will find Sinu and Alejandro lavish quarters in Storm’s End for all they’ve done for her. “Don’t worry, mother. I have been commanded not to die.”

At the words, Sinu almost smiles, and lets her go. She runs into their small armoury and quickly dons her plate and mail, grabbing her helm and putting it on. Faster now, she bursts from the armoury door and mounts Thunder again, riding towards the sound of warhorns, her swordbelt tight around her waist.

It’s not hard to find the army. The Tyrell army is roughly sixty thousand swords strong, and with the return of the rightful Tyrell heir, Ser Michael, the mood is positively jovial. She knows where her father usually fights, in the vanguard, and as she makes her way there, she sees other banners of Tyrell bannermen like the red and green apple Fossoways and the Tarly huntsman. She quickly rides to the vanguard, finding her father in amongst the other knights.

“Father,” She blurts out, deciding not to tell him of the dragon queen they’d been housing, and how she’s apparently a Baratheon now. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when the warhorns sounded, I-”

“Save it for after the battle,” Alejandro interrupts her, “we are to march on King’s Landing. According to this Tyrell lordling who has returned from Essos, Visenya Targaryen has returned to take her crown.”

“I know.” Camila blurts out, looking ahead to the front of the van; Ser Michael is leading it, but she has a feeling he wouldn’t like her going up to join her. Lauren had commanded her to find him or her father, and she feels far safer knowing her father has her back in battle.

It’s not her first battle; she’d squired for her father for ten years, and she’d seen plenty of battle in her life, but she’s _never_ done something like this. She has never marched on a city, especially not King’s Landing. When Robert Baratheon – her _real father, _apparently – had rebelled against the Targaryens eighteen years past, Camila had been three years old, and she hardly remembers a thing, just all of the plunder that happened after, the plunder that killed her mother. Her first _true_ memories of battle were Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, where she’d met her father and squired for him for the first time. She was ten years old and watching men die before her.

When the army march comes to a halt, she hears total silence. That is until the screech of a dragon pierces the air, and a blue and silver blur bursts out of the sky and lands ahead of the army. She sees the fear and surprise on the faces not covered by helms, and when Ser Michael rides up to Vhagar, Camila does too, ignoring her father when he tells her to stay put.

She pushes Thunder forwards at a canter, and stops him in front of the dragon, hearing the familiar raspy voice in conversation. “Yes, that should keep the Starks loyal. I’m glad I need not marry one of those sullen northmen.”

“We will keep Sansa as a ward and lady of the court if she wishes it, and she should be happy enough married to Ser Loras. Lord Varys tells in his letters that she is quite infatuated with him. If you do not wish to keep Lord Eddard as Hand, I counsel you to allow him to keep his titles as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. While he betrayed your grandfather, we will show that the new Targaryen queen is merciful and just.” Ser Michael was saying, until he turns around and sees her. “You.”

“Yeah, me.” Camila dismounts Thunder, and hesitates slightly when she sees the smoke pouring from the large dragon’s nostrils. “Lo-”

Ser Michael is quick to correct her. “_Your Grace._”

Camila looks from him to the woman on dragonback; she already looks so much different to the girl she thought she knew. She had washed the dye from her hair, for a start, and definitely looked a true Targaryen. The silver locks look spun with gold, and shimmer at the slightest sunlight, but Camila finds herself preferring the black. Atop her brow, nestled in the silver hair, a crown sits. Wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon, like House Targaryen’s banners, the coils shine yellow-gold, the wings of the dragon emblazoned in silver, and the three heads are carved in jade, ivory and onyx. _She bears the weight of it like a true queen._

Camila clears her throat and addresses her properly, “Your Grace-”

“Camz, you need not,” Lauren smiles down at her softly, and Camila notes the way her fingers scratch the dragon lightly behind his horns. “You are my woman, and I would like you to speak to me freely.”

“Okay, well,” Camila sucks in a breath, “this attack. King’s Landing has more smallfolk than the entirety of the Reach. It would not do to spill innocent blood.”

“Have no fear, my love,” Lauren assures her, “I do not plan on spilling innocent blood. My armies ought to know not to plunder and sack the city once we take it. I plan on flying straight to the Red Keep and dealing with my enemies; they are the ones I have quarrel with, not the smallfolk.”

“At least let me come with you.” Camila blurts out, quickly questioning herself once she asks. She eyes Vhagar warily, suspecting that the dragon will just throw her off if he doesn’t like the look of her. “If you land in the Red Keep, the Lannister woman will have her own sworn swords. Like her brother, the Kingslayer.”

Lauren raises her eyebrows. “You wish to enter single combat with Jaime Lannister?”

“Well, no, but…” Camila bites down on her bottom lip, “I swore I would shield your back and give my life for yours if needs be.”

An inkling of a smile plays on Lauren’s lips, “Alright then. Get on.”

Camila looks at the dragon with trepidation, and it’s enough time to give Ser Michael a chance to object. “Your Grace, it would not do well to invade the Red Keep with some lowborn squire. Allow me to go in her stead-”

“That lowborn squire you are talking to is Lady Camila of the House Baratheon,” Lauren snaps, but she quickly softens and adds, “and you are the first of my Queensguard and my most trusted knight. You must command my army. Tell them I will burn the gates, and they are to go directly to the Red Keep. No innocents must be harmed, but any Baratheon stags or Lannister lions they should see… they should feel free to put their swords through them.”

Ser Michael gives Camila one last glare, but nods at Lauren’s command, bows, and takes his leave. Camila gives Thunder one last pat, before she murmurs, “Home. You know where that is. Go home.”

The horse trots off, and Camila _hopes_ he understood; he _is_ a very intelligent animal. But when she looks at the beast before her, she’s still vary. “Well…”

“Climb on. He won’t hurt you, I told you that. He only kills on my command, or when he is hunting, but I don’t think he has a taste for human meat.” Lauren says, and it’s only part jest, but Camila trusts her. “Come. We must fly.”

Slowly, Camila climbs up the dragon’s wing, unable to believe that this morning, she’d woken up next to Lauren, a common bastard from the Reach, and now she’s riding on dragonback with Queen Visenya of the House Targaryen, the Second of Her Name.

“Hold on tight, my love,” Lauren calls to her, and Camila doesn’t have time to ask _what the fuck do I hold on to?_ As Lauren murmurs a command in Valyrian, Vhagar takes flight, and Camila lets out an awkward kind of squawk as she wraps her arms around Lauren’s waist, holding onto the older girl rather than the dragon.

The world grows smaller below her, and she blurts out a quiet, “this is incredible.”

Lauren hears her, and laughs lightly. “I hope this doesn’t frighten you, but I have not ridden a dragon before today.”

It frightens her. “You could’ve told me that before I got on.”

“Vhagar has never been big enough to bear my weight until this moon’s turn, and I could not chance flying dragonback until the Usurper was already dead. He listens to me, though, and knows his commands,” She explains, like they’re not hundreds of leagues above the ground and could fall and die at any moment. “Camz… when this is all over, would you do me the honour of being my lady wife?”

“Did you just propose a marriage while we’re riding a _dragon_?” Camila blurts out in disbelief. _Lauren wants to marry me_. “I- am I not too lowborn?”

“It matters not to me that you are a bastard. House Targaryen and House Baratheon have been at odds for eighteen years, and a marriage pact between the new queen and the new Lady of Storm’s End will bring new years of peace,” Lauren explains, and Camila’s heart sinks. _It’s just a political marriage. That’s all._ “And also… I would have to wed to secure my throne, and I find I do not want to wed anyone but you. You are my love, and I want to be your lady wife.”

“Then you shall be,” Camila nuzzles against her, holding her tight only _half_ because she’s afraid she’ll fall from Vhagar’s back. “My queen and my lady wife.”

“That I am, Camz,” Lauren murmurs to her. “And now we take back my kingdom.”

-

Camila has never seen King’s Landing before. She knows it’s big, knows that the Red Keep stands tall on Aegon’s High Hill, knows all of the landmarks like the Great Sept of Baelor. But this is something else entirely. The city is sprawling; houses packed close together, and it all seems like a little clay model from their first glance after three days flight. As they get closer, though, she sees the smallfolk scattering in the streets when they catch sight of Vhagar.

Lauren flies the dragon to the King’s Gate, and Camila grips tight hold of her as Vhagar rears up and lets out a deafening _roar_. Staring directly at the gate, Lauren simply murmurs one word, and all carnage breaks loose.

“_Dracarys.”_

The wood splinters and melts away at the dragonfire, along with most of the wall. It bursts away, creating a big crater large enough for the army to pass through; Camila can see them marching towards it from where she is on Vhagar’s back. Before she can look for her father – like she’d be able to see him _anyway_ – Lauren flies Vhagar towards the south gate; Camila can’t remember the name. There’s another army, flying the Martell banners along with other lesser Dornish Houses, but Camila doesn’t get a good enough look before the south gate blows up in smoke from the blast of dragonfire raining down on it.

Pushing the dragon west, Lauren blows the Mud Gate by the Blackwater, and Camila gets a few moments to look at the ships coming in, and the three specks in the distance that could only be three more dragons joining the fight. But her vision is quickly compromised by the arrows loosed at them from the city walls; archers wearing Lannister crimson are firing a stream of arrows which narrowly miss them, but their attempts to run don’t save them as Lauren commands Vhagar’s fire towards them, incinerating the men in a single blow.

“Daenerys will deal with the rest of the archers,” Lauren calls back to her as she sets her sights on the Red Keep. “We ought to land in Maegor’s Holdfast; that is where Cersei Lannister will be hiding with her children. Much like my mother was hiding with my siblings.”

“How did Varys get you out?” Camila calls back as the great castle grows larger. “Were you not in Maegor’s, too?”

“The Red Keep has many secret passageways. The Mountain had almost found me; I was hiding in my father’s bedchamber, like he could still protect me even though he’d been murdered on the Trident,” Lauren explains, “Varys opened one of the passageways, hidden behind a false back in the wardrobe in my bedchamber, and snuck me out of the castle and onto a ship with Ser Michael to sail to Dragonstone. From Dragonstone, we fled to Braavos with the Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

Ducking close to the dragon’s back to avoid the arrows sailing over their heads, Lauren utters the command again, and the wall at the top of Maegor’s Holdfast caves in at the flame. Flying through it, the dragon lands, and Lauren quickly slides off his back, helping Camila down too.

“We must take the Lannister children into custody. I will not be named child-killer. Cersei Lannister, however… do with her what you must. Same with the Kingslayer, if we happen upon him.” Lauren touches a hand to Vhagar’s snout and murmurs, “_Sōves,” _and the dragon takes off, leaving them in the quiet building. Camila draws her sword, and takes Lauren’s hand with the other.

“Lo, I- I mean, _Your Grace_-”

Lauren pulls her in for a quick kiss, looking at her with so much adoration that she basically melts. “None of that. Not from you.”

“Okay,” Camila bites down on her bottom lip, her sword gripped firmly in her right hand with Lauren’s hand in her left. “It’s just- when you find these highborns… how do you propose to deal with them? You said you wanted to _extinguish House Baratheon once and for all_, yet you sent Vhagar away.”

“Vhagar is too large to navigate these halls,” Lauren tells her, squeezing her hand. “But _Rhaegal_ is not. He will destroy the Lannister woman, the Kingslayer, and anyone who stands in my way. I will take my throne, which is mine by rights.”

Almost as if on cue, a green dragon lands; he’s smaller than Vhagar, but not by _that_ much. It’s enough that he’ll be able to fit through the halls. As she catches Camila staring, Lauren murmurs, “He was named for my father. Seems only fitting that he is the one to protect us through these halls. Come.”

Camila grips her sword tight as the green dragon goes ahead of them, blowing a big oaken door of its hinges. Lauren doesn’t hesitate before walking through the fire – _Targaryens and their thing for fire,_ Camila thinks exasperatedly – and when the flames die enough, she quickly hops through the door frame and takes Lauren’s hand, watching as the older woman pauses to rip a Lannister banner from the walls.

She wonders if this is what it was like eighteen years ago – minus the dragonfire, obviously – when the Mountain had come looking for Rhaegar’s wife and children. Had he burst through doors, destroying each room to find his prey?

“If we can’t find them in here, we tear this castle apart. But this is where everyone comes for refuge during a battle; you usually have to get through the inner castle to reach Maegor’s. This is where they’ll be, I am certain of it.” Lauren kicks open a door, the darkened room within revealed to be a bedchamber. “Keep close, Camz.”

“Does this make me your Queensguard now?” Camila tries to jest, “One of your seven?”

“If it would make you happier to be one of my seven than to be my lady wife, I will name you one of my Queensguard,” Lauren takes her seriously, “but Queensguard can never marry, you know that. And… and I would like you have you forever.”

Camila relaxes, brushing the silver hair back and kissing the nape of her neck. “I was merely jesting. We have already made our marriage pact, have we not?”

“We have,” Lauren murmurs, “now. This is not the place; there is a battle raging outside, and we must find the Lannister children and take them into custody. It is- it is of my royal understanding that they are not Robert Baratheon’s children, but they are in fact bastards born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister.”

Camila’s eyes widen. “For true?”

“For true,” Lauren confirms, “they have thrown Lord Eddard Stark in a dungeon because he discovered the truth, and killed the last Hand, Jon Arryn, for the same discovery.”

After she checks in the wardrobe and under the bed, the room reveals itself to be empty, and Lauren pulls her back out into the hall. The flight of stairs ahead of them is dark and silent, and Rhaegal goes down first, creeping slowly into the dark, a vicious hissing sound following him. Gripping her hand tightly, Camila goes down with Lauren, the hand that’s holding her sword almost cramping from how hard it’s gripping.

They stop at the foot of the stairs, and as Lauren glances around the corner, she whispers, “Guards. They must be in the small hall. Cersei must have invited the ladies of the court to hide in Maegor’s with her and her children, to make me look barbaric if I must cut through them to get to her. A human shield, most like.”

Camila swallows the lump of fear in her throat. “Do you need me to- to _kill_ them? The guards?”

“Can you take them?” Lauren asks. “Two at once? I can send Rhaegal-”

“I can try,” Camila mumbles, pushing Lauren behind her and stepping out into the hallway. The guards don’t seem to notice her; there’s two of them, obvious sellswords based on their Tyroshi look, but dressed up in Lannister crimson with the crowned stag of Baratheon emblazoned on their surcoats.

She wishes she had her helm, so she looked like more of a threat; a short, slender woman dressed in mail probably wouldn’t inspire much fear in these two, who are muscled and at least six foot tall apiece.

The guard on the right notices her first, and snorts with laughter. “And what are you supposed to be?”

She approaches, slowly at first, aware of their laughter; it happens a lot, when you’re brave enough to be a woman in a man’s world. She knows it’s not _uncommon_ for women to fight; the Mormonts of Bear Island train their sons _and_ daughters in the art of sword and lance, but elsewhere, Camila should be inside the room the men are guarding, dressed in silk and lace rather than plate and mail.

She opens the first guard’s throat while he is caught up in his amusement at the sight of her, and by the time the second guard can reach for his own sword, Camila has shoved the point of hers through his belly. “I am Camila of the House Baratheon. And the last thing the two of you will ever see.”

It still feels weird to say it; it’s weird that she has a _House_ at all. But Lauren had legitimised her – _no,_ Queen Visenya of the Hosue Targaryen had legitimised her – so she has to get used to saying it.

“Do they do that often?” Lauren asks as she emerges from the shadows. “Laugh at you? For being a woman in mail?”

“Yes. But all it does is make them underestimate me, which gives me the advantage,” Camila says as she looks at the blood staining the stone floor of Maegor’s Holdfast; blood she’d spilled. Taking a life is never easy, and she doesn’t take any joy in it like some knights she’s met, but she knew it had to happen. “Shall I break the lock on the door? Or will you let Rhaegal burn it?”

“Break it. Rhaegal’s fire could hurt an innocent woman or child inside,” Lauren says, so Camila grips her sword with two hands and breaks the big lock that had been chained around the small hall’s entrance. At the kiss of her steel, the chains part like silk, and she’s quick to kick the door open and let the dragon and dragonqueen alike step into the hall.

The candles are lit, and there are cups of wine and unfinished food on the tables, but the people themselves are huddled against the wall in fear. The only person _not_ shying away is Cersei Lannister, sat atop the dais with a cup of wine in her hand. Camila has only ever seen her once before, when she accompanied Robert Baratheon – _her father – _to a tourney in Ashford, and she is even more beautiful up close. Her golden-haired children are behind her, but the boy Joffrey has his hands on a sword, and Camila knows she may have to fight the supposed crown prince. She’s surprised he’s not out there fighting. He is seventeen and by all rights a man grown, and should be leading his own army against the men outside defending the castle.

“I expect you’ll want me to yield the castle to you.” Cersei barks out, staring Lauren down like she _is_ no more than a bastard from the Reach. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to kill me before that happens. And if you kill me and my children, you’re no better than Gregor Clegane.”

Lauren ignores the bitter bite behind Cersei’s words; in fact, she ignores Cersei’s words all together. “Ladies of the court; I will not harm you, nor will Rhaegal. I am not here to spill the blood of innocents. I’m sure you have been told that I have come to sack your city, let my men defile you and murder your children, as was the last Sack of King’s Landing. But you forget that I was _there_ for the last sack, that my younger siblings and my mother were murdered at the command of Lord Tywin Lannister, in an attempt to win Robert Baratheon’s trust. I do not wish for there to be a repeat of that.”

She turns to Cersei then, addressing her more than anyone else. “I would recommend you to yield this castle to me. We have already taken your city and my army will defeat yours, do not be mistaken.”

Cersei isn’t swayed, or perhaps the wine is making her bold. “And what will you do if I refuse?”

“Kill you. I don’t need you, Lannister.” Lauren answers simply, as Rhaegal creeps towards the dais. “And Rhaegal here is hungry. You know the words of House Targaryen, and you know what I am capable of. I believe you’re smarter than you’re letting on.”

Cersei’s eyes land on Camila, and it’s hard to fight the instinct to kneel; she _is_ still the Queen Regent, after all. She had been brought up to respect the high lords and ladies, especially _royalty_.

_But no, she’s not the queen, Lauren is._ Camila stands her ground, defiant, as Cersei lazily looks her over. “No doubt you’re one of my beloved late husband’s bastard brood. Which common whore was your mother?”

At the insult to the mother she hardly knew, Camila steps forwards, sword raised, but Lauren holds her back as Cersei laughs. “Oh, you’re as bad-tempered as Robert was. So easy to provoke.” The Queen Regent glances back at the _rightful_ queen and asks, “You know this bastard is no threat to my son’s claim to the throne.”

Lauren keeps her hard stare. “Your son _has_ no claim to the throne. He is a bastard born of incest between you and your brother, the Kingslayer.”

Many of the ladies of the court titter to each other at the newest gossip, but no attention is paid to them when the crown prince speaks up.

“That is a filthy lie,” Joffrey snaps from beside his mother, his sword drawn, “_I_ am the king, and you are nothing more than a little treasonous whore. My father took the crown; the Targaryens will be no more when I am through with you. I will finish what my father started.”

“Even if you kill me now, the throne will pass to Daenerys Targaryen, and there are three more dragons outside your castle waiting to burn it and _you_ to embers and ashes,” Lauren calmly tells the boy. “You can come calmly, and be a ward of the throne, or I will let Rhaegal do as he will with you.”

The younger boy and the girl, Tommen and Myrcella, shrink back against the wall, behind their mother and Joffrey. She does not think that Lauren would harm them; they _are_ children, while Joffrey is no longer.

The crown prince sneers at her queen, drawing his sword. “They will call me the dragonslayer king, and cheer for me as I parade its dead body down the streets of King’s Landing, with _your_ whore’s head sewn onto it. Your body… the commons can do what they like with it. You won’t be in a position to stop them. Perhaps I’ll sew the head of your little lizard there onto your body, and leave you in the brothels; let men and women alike bed the Last Dragon.”

As he lunges, Camila meets his sword, stopping steel with steel. She has the advantage; she’s armoured in plate and mail, while this supposed _prince_ is merely wearing an expensive velvet doublet wrought in gold, with the Lannister lion and Baratheon stag emblazoned on the chest. He lunges again, and she parries his downcut, getting her own slash in but missing his body as he ducks away. She knows he may have the advantage in the fight, because he’s been trained by master armourers and the best knights in Westeros, and Camila had learned swordplay from a hedge knight.

Rhaegal hisses, but he does not make a move, watching the boy as he cuts and parries, and Camila as she blocks his slashes. But when Joffrey dances around her and somehow manages to land a cut against Lauren’s chest, Rhaegal screeches in anger and attacks. When the dragon blows hot flame and the leg of Joffrey’s breeches catch fire, he exposes himself by swinging wildly at the dragon, screaming from the anger and pain in his leg. With one stroke of her sword, Camila opens his belly, spilling his innards onto the stone floor. As the boy dies, Cersei screams in anguish, and Rhaegal roasts the rest of his body; dragons only eat cooked meat.

Camila rushes to Lauren’s side, as the blood blooms in a red flower beneath the white tunic she’d taken from Camila’s wardrobe that day in Ashford, the morning they’d found out about the king. “My love.”

“It is merely a cut, Camz,” Lauren presses her hand to it and winces, but is otherwise unharmed, “I have more pressing matters.”

“You _killed_ my son!” Cersei screams from the dais, all of her calm and confident beauty lost in anger that twists her face. “You will lose your head for this-”

“You see what happens when I am threatened,” Lauren calmly announces to the room, to the ladies of the court and the men too old to fight are backed against the walls as if they can fade through them and escape, “any high lords and ladies left in the room, you would be smart to bend the knee.”

“You have murdered the crown prince before our very eyes!” Cersei calls out to the hall, “The commons will never accept you as their queen when you have murdered a boy of _seventeen_.”

“A man grown,” Lauren corrects her, “a man grown who _should_ have been out there fighting with his people. Any king who does not fight with and _for_ the commons is no king at all. _And_ he attacked me. Forgive me for not letting him _butcher_ me.”

“Yield the castle,” an old man calls from the left. He looks afraid when lilac eyes turn to him, but he looks at Cersei, coughing into a square of white linen. _Lord Gyles Rosby_, Camila identifies him as he begs the Queen Regent, “Yield, Your Grace.”

Even though her anguish, Cersei sends Lord Gyles a look that would have the mightiest knight cowering. And that’s when Camila hears the footsteps. A _lot_ of footsteps. And she realises why Cersei was refusing to yield; because she knew she had backup on the way.

“Your Grace,” Camila pushes Lauren away from the doors just as the men burst in, their swords drawn and ready, and Rhaegal lets out a loud screech, ready to loose his fire, and Camila worries that their fight is done, that the battle that had seemed so easy to win would’ve been lost in an instant.

But then she sees their colours, and the man leading them. _Ser Michael Tyrell_. “Your Grace! The city is ours. We have taken the Kingslayer prisoner, which will keep Lord Tywin from attacking.”

Cersei rises from her place on the dais, her eyes still on the charred remains of her baseborn son. “Jaime. Do not harm Jaime. I cannot-”

As two of the Tyrell-men-at-arms take Cersei and her children, Lauren shoots her a triumphant look. “You should have yielded when you had the chance.”

They roughly escort her from the hall, and Lauren turns to the remaining ladies of the court. Her eyes land on a particular girl, who looks deathly afraid of her, and her sister, who looks on in mere fascination. “My ladies of Stark. I am sorry for the harsh introduction. Your father, Lord Eddard, will not be harmed, I can assure you of that.”

“You’re Visenya Targaryen,” The younger of the two _states_ more than asks, “named after Aegon’s sister?”

Lauren nods. “That I am, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” The girl argues, “I’m Arya Stark, and I’m going to be a warrior.”

Lauren smiles, and Camila smiles too; the girl can’t be older than ten. “I admire your courage. I am sure you will make the finest of warriors, much like your father, Lord Eddard.”

Similarly, Lauren goes around the room, introducing herself, apologising for the brutality, getting to know each lady – or elderly lord – in the room, and assuring them that she is not to be feared. Rhaegal snaps at any offence, but remains otherwise quiet as the Tyrell men-at-arms deal with their hostages.

“Lady Sansa,” Lauren stops them as the guards are escorting the two Stark girls from the room. “I have heard that you are quite taken with Ser Michael’s brother, Ser Loras Tyrell. If you were to remain in King’s Landing as a ward of the throne, we would like to see the two of you wed. But only if you and your father consent to it.”

Sansa Stark looks on warily, between Ser Michael and Lauren. “Only if I and my father consent?”

Lauren nods in gentle confirmation. “I am afraid that in this world, we all must wed at some point, but I do believe that a lady should have the choice of when and whom.”

Lauren looks to Camila as she says that, and the corners of her mouth tilt up in the softest kind of smile. Camila practically _grins_ back, because this woman, her _queen_, is so beautiful that it’s hard not to smile at the sight of her.

As the last of the ladies of the court are escorted out by Tyrell men, Lauren quickly turns to Ser Michael, the grace and courtesies slipping away in favour of a sense of urgency. “What of the Usurper’s brothers?”

Ser Michael notes the blood on her tunic, “Your Grace, you are hurt-”

“A scratch,” Lauren brushes it off, “I will visit a maester later, when I am sure my throne is secure. What of the Usurper’s brothers?”

“Stannis was killed on Dragonstone by one of the horse lords in Daenerys’ army. We have Lord Renly in our custody. Lord Eddard Stark is still down in the black cells, where the Lannister woman had locked him to stop him from revealing the secret of the incest.” Ser Michael reports. “What is to be done with him?”

“Release him. I wish to talk with the Warden of the North.”

-

As the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, Ser Michael joins her on her journey down to the black cells, once she was certain all of the people who needed to be imprisoned _were_ imprisoned, and after her forced trip to Maester Frenken, a kindly old man who patched up the cut Joffrey had landed just below her collarbone. Her list of prisoners, she was told as the maester stitched, included Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, and half of the small council; Lord Renly, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Petyr Baelish, as well as several other knights whose lords had uncertain loyalties.

She knows that some of them must be executed, but she does not wish to start her reign that way. She will deal with that after she has rewarded loyalty.

Lord Varys leads her to the black cells, where Cersei Lannister had imprisoned Lord Eddard Stark. As the keys jingle in the lock, Varys calls out, “Lord Eddard. The queen has come for a word.”

“I will not confess to the treasons I did not commit,” Lord Eddard calls into the dark, “you had Robert murdered-”

“I am afraid you’re talking to the wrong queen,” She takes the torch from Varys, placing it into the sconce on the wall, and standing in its light. “Lord Eddard. I am Queen Visenya of House Targaryen. I have taken the city and the throne, as well as captured Cersei Lannister and her two bastard children. The third learned what happened when he attacked me. We are here to free you of your cell.”

Lord Eddard clearly takes a few moments to let the information sink in, and the first thing he asks is, “My daughters-”

“Are perfectly fine. They are safe in the Tower of the Hand with your guard,” She quickly assures her, “they will be handled with the utmost care, I promise you. I am not in the business of hurting little girls. All I ask of you is that you bend the knee, and sit the next few council sessions to help the realm transition into this new phase. This accusation of treason will be forgotten, you will keep all your lordships and titles, and you will be given safe passage back to Winterfell with your daughter Arya, and Sansa if she does not wish to stay at court and marry Ser Loras Tyrell.”

Lord Eddard looks to Varys, “Were you involved with this? You were committing treason while posing as Robert’s informer on the Targaryens?”

Varys smiles his simpering smile. “I care not for the quarrels between Targaryen and Baratheon. I care for the realm, while Robert Baratheon was a good man, he was not a good king. I made sure I knew all I could of the two Targaryen girls in Essos before I made contact, and I am sure that this is what is best for the realm.”

“I know you are an honourable man, and I know you will grieve for Robert Baratheon. He was not only your king, he was your friend besides.” She quickly assures him. “I do not want this realm to bleed, and I have been told your son Robb has called your banners upon hearing of your arrest. I do not intend to start a war between Targaryen and Stark.”

Lord Eddard looks resigned, but he gives her a solemn nod. “I will bend the knee, so long as you make good on your promises. I never wished to be Robert’s Hand, and I ask you relieve me of that duty.”

“I had already planned to, Lord Eddard,” She assures him; she has yet to choose a Hand, but she wants to flush the council of anyone faithful to the Usurper. “Bend the knee and sit the next council sessions, and then you are free to return to Winterfell. I will offer you an honour guard for safe passage up the Kingsroad as a gesture of good faith. Lord Varys, unlock his chains.”

With a jingle of keys, Lord Eddard Stark is free of his bonds. Lord Varys helps the man to his feet, but within moments he is back down, bending the knee to her on the cell floor. She smiles satisfactorily; he is an intelligent man, and disliked war as much as she does. She had a feeling he would make the correct choice.

“Your Grace. I ask your leave to go and see my daughters,” Lord Eddard requests, “I will ask Sansa how she feels of your marriage proposal.”

“Arise,” She says, and he stands, “there will be a council meeting this evening. I ask your presence there, while we get matters in order. I will be coronated within the week.”

He bows as he takes his leave, Ser Michael escorting him out of the dungeons and back up into the light. She removes the torch from its sconce, and follows in their direction with Varys. “Your loyalties are always uncertain, Lord Varys. If you ever feel that I am failing the realm, do not scheme behind my back, for that will win you no favours. Come to me directly, and tell me how I am failing the realm, and we will fix the problem together. Do I have your word on that?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Varys bows low, before they ascend the steps out of the dungeons. “May I offer some advice?”

She nods her consent. “You may.”

“Do not spare Grand Maester Pycelle. He is Tywin Lannister’s creature, through and through.” Varys informs her. “Littlefinger has certain uses, but he is loyal to only himself.”

“And Lord Renly?” She questions. “What do you propose I do with the Lord of Storm’s End, and by all rights, Robert Baratheon’s heir?”

“Heir to a stolen throne. By all rights, you are the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaegar had three children with his wife Elia, and two are dead. You are the eldest besides, and more fit to rule than Lord Renly. He inspires loyalty in the people, but so do you. The difference between you and Renly is that he is green as summer grass. He has never _fought_ a battle, let alone won one.”

“Let alone won a _kingdom_ back,” She corrects him, “and of this marriage I propose with Camila. What are your thoughts?”

“You legitimised her, so she is a Baratheon by rights. People may find it queer that you chose to wed another woman, but the Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries, and this is far less bizarre than that,” Varys speaks aloud all of her thoughts, but then raises the question, “what of an heir, though? Two women cannot make a child.”

She has thought about that as well, but the positives of their marriage outweigh that single negative. “I will name Daenerys as my heir, in the sight of gods and men. If anything ill should befall her, I shall choose my heir. Someone who I know to be good and just. This fight was not merely for a Targaryen restoration. It was for the people, who have known no good rule since the days of Aegon V Targaryen, the Unlikely.”

“Wise words from the right queen,” Lord Varys agrees, “We shall talk more at the council session at evenfall. Perhaps I could take you to the queen’s bedchambers?”

“No. I would like to meet my smallfolk,” She decides as they reach the top of the long, winding staircase to the dungeons and into a wide stone hallway. The lion of Lannister and the stag of Baratheon had been torn down, and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung from the walls once again. “I must go and find my betrothed. I would like her to accompany me.”

“Allow me to summon Ser Michael. As first of your Queensguard, you must have protection.” Varys tells her. “The streets of King’s Landing can be perilous. Many a common man would do unspeakable things to bed a queen.”

“Then Camila will open them head to heel with the sword that I am going to bequeath unto her.” She states. “Did you find it? Blackfyre? The sword of Aegon the Conqueror?”

Varys smiles. “That I did, Your Grace. You will find it waiting in your chambers.”

“Find my betrothed and tell her to meet me in the throne room.” She commands, “I will go collect this sword. An engagement gift, we will call it.”

“Perhaps I should send up some maids to help you change into garb more fitting for a queen?” Varys asks her. “We are working on moving the rest of your possessions from The Reach, but it will take some time to get here. The riders have to travel many leagues to get there and many leagues to return.”

She glances down at the roughspun breeches and white, bloodied shirt that she’d taken from Camila. Admittedly, the only thing _queenly_ about her is her crown, but she shakes her head. “This will serve for walking the streets, once I find a new shirt. Send Camila to the throne room. I will be there to treat with her shortly.”

She leaves Varys in the hallway, finding her way to her chambers by herself. The castle is huge, with different curling passageways and doors that supposedly lead to nowhere, and while she has some memories from childhood, it is not enough to serve. It takes her longer than she expected to find her old bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast – it’s past the side of the tower that she’d broken through on Vhagar’s back, but she gets there safely nonetheless.

It’s smaller than she remembers; maybe because she was four when she was last in this room. She remembers that night more clearly than any other, the sounds of death and destruction from the city, hearing her mother’s screams of anguish and despair as her brother and sister were murdered before her very eyes just a floor below.

She’d been hiding under her father’s bed, shaking as she heard those heartbreaking sounds from her brother’s nursery. But when she’d heard her mother’s screams, the sounds of her being defiled, she’d found a little bit of courage – or maybe it was just sheer madness. She’d pushed herself out from under her father’s bed, and crept out into the hallway as if she, a four year old girl, could save her mother from The Mountain.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she’d crept down the stone stairs, hiding in a little crevice in the darkened stairwell when a knight in Lannister crimson ascended the stairs, probably to look for her. Robert’s rule would never be secure if any of Rhaegar’s children lived, after all.

Her own bedchamber was next to her brother’s nursery, and as she heard the feeble whimpers coming from the room, and the sound of heavy footsteps, she quickly ran inside, shutting the heavy oaken door as quietly as she could. She backed away from it, scared and silent, but she knew she had to save her mother, and if the Mountain was leaving, maybe she had a chance.

But then a hand had covered her mouth, and another had grabbed her around the stomach. She heard Lord Varys’ voice in her ear. “Do not scream. Come with me, Princess Visenya. There is a ship waiting to carry you to safety.”

“I- but- my _mother_, I can’t just _leave_ her!” She protested, wriggling in Varys’ grip to get to her mother. She wants to call out, but she knows that The Mountain will kill her like he killed her little brother and sister. “We have to save my mother.”

“The Princess Elia is already dead,” Lord Varys informs her gravely, pushing the back out of her wardrobe and revealing a secret passage she’d never known was there. “Come, Your Grace. If you stay here you will die.”

That was the last time she’d been in this bedchamber. It’s different; the Targaryen colours had been stripped from the room, replaced with the crimson and gold of House Lannister. She wonders who used this room after she’d been taken from it. And which member of the Usurper’s court had slept in the room next door, where The Mountain murdered her family?

“It does not do to dwell on these things,” She murmurs to herself, finding the sword in its scabbard, propped up against the old rickety bed. She pulls it out to examine it; the Valyrian steel is razor sharp, and while this is the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, she has no use for it. She is no swordsman; she finds the art of swordplay clumsy where archery is not.

She takes the sword with her as she makes her way to the throne room; this path, she remembers. She would always go to court with her mother and father, to watch her grandfather the king deal with matters big and small. Many a time, her mother had to shield her eyes from the monstrosities that Aerys II Targaryen considered justice.

_He was not always like this, _her father would tell her, when she asked why her grandfather liked to hurt the people who came to him for help. _Years of Varys’ whispers, Lord Tywin’s rising power and the alliances between four of the Seven Kingdoms made his paranoia turn him to madness._

_And what of you, father? Was it the Targaryen madness that compelled you to kidnap Lyanna Stark and start Robert’s Rebellion?_ It is scary to think that she could have that taint within her. Centuries of wedding brother to sister to _keep bloodlines pure_ had spared their Valyrian features, but were silver hair and purple eyes truly worth the instable sanity?

_Speaking of Valyrian features,_ she thinks to herself, “Dany!”

She hails the woman just outside of the throne room; Daenerys looks positively regal in her blue summer gown, meanwhile she’s there in a pair of dirty breeches and a shirt that was probably made by Sinu and covered with her own blood, though her crown is still rested on her brow. “There will be a council meeting at evenfall. I plan on naming you my heir and Princess of Dragonstone with witnesses.”

Dany smiles, wrapping her in an embrace. Even though she’s her aunt, she’s more like a sister, as there are only four years between them. Daenerys is almost at her nineteenth name-day, and Visenya is two-and-twenty. They grew up together, roaming the Free Cities with Ser Michael, and Daenerys’ older brother Viserys, a cruel entitled boy similar to Joffrey in his nature. That was until Viserys married Daenerys off to Khal Drogo, and went with them across the Dothraki sea, never to return. As Daenerys made her way to Qarth and then Slaver’s Bay, Visenya had lived in Lys, Pentos and Tyrosh with Ser Michael; they could never stay in one place for too long and had to stay ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives.

_We are the last Targaryens, and we must stick together._ “Be my Hand.”

Dany pulls out of the hug in surprise. “Your Hand? I don’t think I am wise enough in the ways of war.”

“But you know how to rule. You’ve ruled in Meereen for almost two years,” She quickly realised, “I am not wise in the ways of _ruling_. War is easy enough. _Fire and blood._ Think about it. With me as queen and you as Hand, we could have a peaceful realm. Neither of us want innocent blood spilled.”

“To be sure,” Dany considers, “I will think on your offer.”

“What of the dragons?” She asks. “Do you know where they are? Rhaegal left Maegor’s as we were escorting our prisoners to their new chambers.”

“The Dragonpit. Since it is crumbling down and not an enclosed dome, they seem to like the place,” Dany tells her, “it’s far enough from the city that there should be no danger of them harming anyone, and there’s plenty of open space for them to fly.”

She nods, thinking that is as good a place as any to put them, and pulls her in for one last hug before she makes her way into the throne room. It’s much different than she remembers; the dragon skulls which lined the walls had been taken down, probably _destroyed_ by the Usurper. Flowered tapestries decorate the high walls instead, and while the crowned stag and lion banners have been torn down and replaced with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, they still lay crumpled on the great stone floor.

The Iron Throne sits at the head of the room, but her betrothed is waiting in the centre, and that is where she goes. “My love.”

“Lo,” Camila breathes out, cupping her jaw and pulling her in for the sweetest kiss. It tastes of victory. “Have you done all you needed to do?”

“I want to go for a walk. Meet the commons.” She explains, pulling the sword and scabbard from where she’d held it behind your back. “Here. An engagement present for you.”

“A sword?” Camila takes it, frowning at the jewelled dragons decorating the pommel. “This seems… much too fancy for a commoner like me.”

“Except you are not a commoner. You are the Lady of Storm’s End, and soon to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms alongside your lady wife.” She reminds her. “No sword is too fanciful for a queen. It is named Blackfyre, though if you wish to rename it…”

Camila blinks in surprise as she pulls it from its sheath and sees the dark metal, folded over itself thousands and thousands of times, “Valyrian steel. Is this…”

“The ancestral sword of House Targaryen, yes,” She nods, and when Camila looks like she’s about to decline it she adds, “but you will be part of House Targaryen when we wed, and I nor Daenerys have use for it. Our weapons are the dragon.”

Camila kisses her again, and she tastes the love on her lips. “Thank you, my love. You are- I am honestly still in shock of the past few days, finding out you are a _queen_, and that I am some king’s bastard, so apologies if I am not at my most eloquent. But thank you. For the sword, and for your love.”

“You will always have my love,” She assures her, offering up her arm once she changes into the spare shirt that Varys must have left with Camila. “Shall we go for a walk through the city? The smallfolk should meet their new queen.”

Camila sheathes the sword, clipping the sword belt around her waist. “It would be my honour to escort you.”

-

She is as gentle a queen as any, and the smallfolk seem to love her almost as much as Camila does. It is like it was in Ashford; everyone is under Lauren’s spell. She thinks the effect may be enhanced by her radiance; the silver hair and lilac eyes of the Targaryens gave them almost other-worldly beauty, and even though she is just wearing Camila’s clothes, the crown rested on her brow makes her positively regal.

She makes sure to bring food with her on the white mare they ride double on, handing it out to the children in Flea Bottom who are far too skinny for words. As she passes a loaf of bread, some cheese and apples to a woman in her run-down straw hut, she says for all to hear, “It is wrong that the Lannisters sat up in that castle, eating five courses for each meal while there are children starving in the streets. I vow that for as long as I am your queen, you shall never go hungry.”

If she hadn’t already won over their love with kindness, she had then. The smallfolk make it plain how they felt about the Lannisters, and that boy-prince Joffrey.

“He ordered my child executed for stealing an apple from a tree in the castle grounds, and sent mine other to the Wall when he tried to stop him.” A woman tells them with tears in her eyes. “He cut my daughter’s throat, and I shall never see my son again.”

“I know I have no words that could bring back your daughter, but I am truly sorry,” Lauren assures the woman, “how long ago was this?”

“Two days past.” The woman says. “He would never have been allowed to do it if King Robert was still alive, but he passed a day before and by law that made Joffrey the king.”

“Neither of them were the lawful king, I assure you of that.” Lauren states plainly, before she considers something and says, “I can send a raven to the Wall. It takes five-and-twenty days riding hard on horseback to reach the Wall, and your son would have training to complete besides before he would take his vows. I will write to them and tell them that there has been a mistake, and send some of my men to collect him. Mayhaps they will meet them on the road.”

The woman looks ready to kiss Lauren’s feet. “Thank you, m’lady- I- I mean, Your Grace. I have been praying for a Targaryen restoration…”

“No you have not. After my grandfather’s rule, I do not believe anybody would.” Lauren simply replies, smiling knowingly. “But I assure you, you will not have another Aerys on your hands.”

As they ride on, making their way back up Aegon’s High Hill to the Red Keep, Camila touches her hand to Lauren’s waist; she is in front of her in the saddle, holding the reins. “Are you truly going to write to the Night’s Watch for that woman?”

“Yes. I said I would, and I am a woman of my word.” Lauren tells her. “I don’t think they will refuse their queen, and if they do, the Night’s Watch will find out what happens when you ignore your queen’s command.”

Camila lets out a light laugh. “Thought they didn’t have another Aerys on their hands?”

It’s a jest, but she feels the tension in Lauren’s body. “There is a difference between punishing those who disrespect their queen and ripping peoples tongues out for mere jokes.”

“_That_ was a joke,” Camila quickly assures her, resting her chin on Lauren’s shoulder and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. “I do not truly believe in that Targaryen madness, anyway.”

“It is real,” Lauren reluctantly tells her, “only a few have been afflicted, but it is a true thing. Many say that it is a curse the gods put upon us as penance for centuries of incest. _When a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land, _King Jaehaerys II once said. Aerys was the most recent example, but there was Aerion Targaryen, who called himself Aerion Brightflame. He believed he was a dragon in human form, and died screaming when he drank wildfire, thinking it would transform him into a dragon. Maegor the Cruel was another, as well as my uncle Viserys. Baelor the Blessed and his excessive piety was considered madness by some.”

“Baelor was a great king,” Camila frowns, “from what I have been told. He loved the smallfolk and the gods, and the realm had many years of peace under his rule. He walked the Boneway barefoot and gave the realm peace with Dorne, as well.”

“Yet he imprisoned his own sisters and left them in the Maidenvault, believing them a distraction to the men of the court,” Lauren rebukes her, “his erratic decision making made his lords uneasy, and while his madness may not have shown itself in cruelty, it showed itself in other ways. But Aerys was the worst; he was broken after his imprisonment for half a year at Duskendale, as the beginning of his rule was peaceful, and he was known to be good and just. But after Duskendale, he grew increasingly paranoid, and any jest sounded like a threat to his rule. I loved my grandfather, when the flashes of the kind and just man he once was shone through, but after he cooked Lord Rickard Stark alive in his armour and made his son Brandon strangle himself trying to save him… I couldn’t love him after that.”

Camila kisses her shoulder. “You witnessed it?”

“I was at court with my mother, and you are not permitted to leave the throne room until the court session is over. When Lord Rickard demanded a trial by combat, my mother tried to take me out of the room, but the gold cloaks were barring the exit.” Lauren says. “I never watched, but it was hard not to hear the screams.”

Camila doesn’t know what to say; she’d known of the event, obviously. But the idea that a four year old girl had had to witness it makes Aerys seem even worse than he already had. “I’m sorry.”

“That is why… if I ever show any signs of having the _taint_, I would like you to tell me before it is too late, my love,” Lauren murmurs, “I do not want to be remembered like that. And if something happened to ever make me slip into madness, I want you to take that sword and open my throat.”

Camila sucks in a breath, “I could not do that-”

“It is my wish. For the love you bear me, _please_.” Lauren turns to look at her, and her heart flutters, “If I start ripping tongues out for mere jests, and I refuse to listen to reason, _take that sword and open my throat._”

Camila swallows the lump in her throat and gives the woman a solemn nod. “Okay.”

“But I do not plan on that ever happening.” Lauren quickly assures her. “Anyway. I would like you to sit in the council meeting tonight.”

“Alright, but… but afterwards, I ask your leave to go back to Ashford to see my parents,” Camila says, “I must needs explain everything to them.”

“Invite them to court, if they would like to come.” Lauren easily replies. “Your father will find suitable work in the City Watch – I will need a new commander – and we can find suitable chambers for them in the castle.”

Camila blinks. “For true? But they’re lowborn.”

“That does not matter,” Lauren shrugs, “they are special to you, like Ser Michael is to me. You will be queen alongside me, and you can invite people to court.”

Camila bites down on her bottom lip, nodding. “I will ask them when I return to Ashford.”

“I will get you a fresh horse and provisions for your journey. It should take you three days, much like it took my army to march here.” Lauren states, “Or I could accompany you. We could take Vhagar and get there much sooner.”

Camila nods. “It would do well for you to join me. I told my mother your true identity before we left, but I am not sure she believed me.”

“Once I have everything in place, and once I have been coronated, we will visit your family and ask them to come to court,” Lauren says, and the guards at the gates of the Red Keep uncross their spears for them to cross the portcullis. “As my lady wife, you will have a place on the council, and we will share the royal apartments. It is important for those wed to share their marriage bed.”

“When do you propose a wedding?” Camila asks. “After your coronation?”

Lauren nods. “To be sure. I expect we will be wed within a moon’s turn, at the start of the new century. Soon it will be three hundred years since Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya conquered the Seven Kingdoms. Seems only fitting that there is a Targaryen queen ruling in time for that.”

They dismount their mare, leaving her for the stableboys to tend to. Camila takes her betrothed’s arm again, and as they walk into the Red Keep, she wonders how her life became _this_. _I will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, along with my lady wife, when not four moon’s turns ago I was a mere squire from the Reach. _

“I know you mislike it when I call you _Your Grace_,” Camila asks, “but why?”

“I may command everyone else, as it is my duty as a queen,” Lauren states, “but I do not like the thought of commanding you. Between us, I feel… I feel it is you, who should give the commands. Like you did the night you first bedded me.”

Camila smirks slightly. “My queen likes being put in her place?”

“By you,” Lauren concedes, her cheeks red with blush, “by my love.”

Pressing another kiss to the nape of her lady’s neck, she murmurs, “Maybe we should find our chambers and you can _bend the knee_.”

Lauren bites down on her bottom lip, patting her arm where they’re linked, “Later, my love. For now, it is almost time for the council meeting. You will probably find it boring, but Ser Michael will not be there, and I trust you as much as him.”

Camila raises her eyebrows. “What do you plan on talking about with these high lords and ladies?”

“The most important points are my coronation, when we will be wed, and me naming Daenerys my heir in the sight of gods and men. There are other matters to be dealt with, though.” Lauren tells her. “Some less pleasing matters, of what I shall do with my prisoners. Some of our captives cannot be trusted.”

Camila frowns to herself. _Well, her answer to this will determine if she has any of that Targaryen madness in her. _“What do you propose to do to Cersei Lannister’s children, Lo?”

“I plan on keeping them as wards of the crown. They may not be as highborn as they were assumed to be, but a boy of eleven and a girl of fourteen hardly pose any threat to me.” Lauren shrugs. “It is their mother who will have a different fate.”

Lauren does not elaborate on the fate that will befall Cersei Lannister. She waits until the council meet; there are a few empty chairs, but she has no doubt that Lauren will fill them. Camila doesn’t particularly know which position she should sit in; Lauren sits in the high seat, looking as regal and queenly as ever. She’d changed from Camila’s roughspun breeches and spare shirt into a beautiful green silk gown. Her silver hair shines with gold whenever the light hits it, and that is merely complimented by the jewelled crown rested on her brow.

She awkwardly takes the seat on her left hand side, after Lauren explains that the Hand should sit at her right, still in her basic breeches and tunic. Those who were called to council sit at different places on the table; Daenerys Targaryen, Lauren’s aunt, pulls out the chair next to Camila, and the younger girl wonders if Valyrians are truly _human_ at all, because both Targaryen women are as radiant as goddesses.

When everyone has arrived, Lauren calmly announces from the head of the table, “I now call the council meeting to session. First order of business; my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the week. I _am_ queen, but the formal ceremony shall serve as a reminder to those who remain faithful to the Lannister woman.”

“I am sure that can be made possible,” Lord Varys makes a note in his books, “and the line of succession?”

“It is of my wish that Daenerys Targaryen serve as my Hand while I rule, but if something ill should happen to me, I name her my heir,” Lauren announces, “you are all my witnesses to this wish, so long as my aunt would accept.”

After a few moments of silence, Daenerys speaks, “I will serve as your Hand and be named your rightful heir, Visenya. I will send Ser Jorah Mormont to Dragonstone as castellan while I am in King’s Landing sitting council.”

Lauren nods gracefully, and murmurs a small, “thank you, Dany,” that Camila only hears because she’s sat between the two women. “Now. The royal wedding will take place as soon as possible. It is my wish that Camila and I are wed within a moon’s turn. She is a Baratheon by rights, and this marriage will serve as an alliance between our two quarrelling Houses. We will make our plans later; I do not wish for an excessive ceremony. A few courses for a feast will serve, with the leftovers being donated to those in need in Flea Bottom. In addition to this, I would like that every household in the city that is in need will get sufficient weekly rations from our harvest. It is a human right to food, and no good queen would let her smallfolk starve.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lord Varys notes this down as well, “we shall need to appoint a new master of coin to see some of these changes put to reality. Lord Baelish may serve, but as I warned you before, Littlefinger is loyal to only Littlefinger.”

“I need members of my small council who are loyal to the _realm_. Ser Michael will serve as Lord Commander of my Queensguard, as well as the master of war. Lord Varys, you will remain as master of whisperers, Dany is my Hand, and I wish for a council seat to be created for the Dornish, and my uncle Prince Oberyn to sit it… that means we shall require a new master of ships and master of laws.” Lauren recounts; Camila had hardly heard of any of these positions. She jumps slightly when Lauren’s hand covers hers on top of the table. “My lady wife shall sit the council as well, as our reign will be one of _equal_ power, once we are wed.”

“As your master of whispers, allow me to give you this story a little bird sang earlier today.” Varys prefaces, “Lord Balon Greyjoy is dead, killed by his brother Euron. While the ironborn choose their own leaders based on strength, the Iron Fleet is the best fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. If Euron Greyjoy should prevail in their kingsmoot, I would advise you to choose Lord Balon’s last living son, Theon Greyjoy, for your master of ships.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Eddard, who had remained quiet at the end of the table, finally speaks up, “I am aware that I am not your Hand, nor are relations between Stark and Targaryen at their best. Theon Greyjoy is my ward, and has lived at Winterfell for over ten years. I would advise against choosing him for your master of ships. His sister, Yara, who has lived in the Iron Islands her whole life, may prove a better choice to win the loyalties of the Iron Islands.”

“And it will prove that a woman can rule just as well as a man,” Lauren finishes, considering his words, “I will send a raven to Pyke, and summon Yara Greyjoy to King’s Landing with an offer of a position on the small council. On that note, we need only a master of laws, the position Lord Renly held before his imprisonment.”

“And a Grand Maester.” Lord Varys quickly reminds Lauren. “Pycelle is Tywin Lannister’s man, through and through. You would do well to shorten him a head and send to the Citadel for a new Grand Maester.”

“I do not want one of my first acts as queen to be beheading an old man,” Lauren sternly replies, “Pycelle will be stripped of his chain and sent to Casterly Rock to tell Lord Tywin that we have Ser Jaime and Cersei in our captivity. Cersei will lose her head, I have no qualms about that, but if Lord Tywin should raise his banners, I will have Ser Jaime’s head as well.”

“And of his other son?” Daenerys asks. “Tyrion?”

Lauren looks to Varys for her answer. “What of him, Lord Varys? Do you know the man?”

“I know that he commands no such love from his father. Lord Tywin sees Tyrion as a curse sent to humble him. The man is full of low cunning and favours whores over a wife, but I see no cause to harm Tyrion.” Lord Varys shrugs lightly. “If Lord Tywin were to die, by law, Casterly Rock would pass to Tyrion; Ser Jaime cannot inherit it, since he donned the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Harm Tyrion, and you will have the next Lord of Casterly Rock as your enemy. Be a friend to him, and you will have a Warden of the West who is faithful to House Targaryen.”

Lauren hums. “We shall leave Lord Tyrion be, then. Where is he now, do you know?”

“The Wall, visiting Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.” Varys says. “He should return to King’s Landing within the next two moon’s turns.”

“We will test his loyalties on his return.” Daenerys states, pouring herself a cup of wine; it’s a fine Arbor vintage, and probably cost more than Camila’s home in Ashford. “Until then, we should write to the Citadel and request ourselves a new Grand Maester, or request if kind Maester Frenken could take the position. If Tyrion proves loyal, however, I propose we name him master of laws. It would keep good faith between Targaryen and Lannister, especially after we plan on shortening Cersei a head.”

“I do not plan on _beheading_ anyone.” Lauren says, but the _way_ she says it implies a worse fate. “Anyway. Lord Stark. Has Lady Sansa thought about my offer?”

“She agrees to remain at court and wed Ser Loras, and as her father, I approve of the match as well.” Lord Eddard responds. “Arya wishes to return home with me.”

“She is a fierce one.” Lauren comments. “When she is grown a few years, I must visit Winterfell and see how her warrior training is coming along. Might be I should bring a white cloak of the Queensguard with me. Anyway, our hostages. Cersei will die, have no question about that. Ser Jaime will be kept as a hostage, to prevent Lord Tywin from calling his banners. What do you propose we do with Lord Renly? Camila? He is your uncle, after all.”

“I do not know the man.” Camila shrugs, not sure how she’s supposed to contribute. “I don’t know if he will prove loyal, or if he will try to raise the Storm Lords.”

“Stannis is dead. I saw to that myself; he was sitting a war council when we took Dragonstone, plotting his attack on King’s Landing to take the throne for himself.” Daenerys says. “The last trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon could make a valuable friend, if you think you could make one of him.”

“That is my plan, to make friends, not enemies,” Lauren concedes, “I will send ravens to all of the high lords, and ask them to come and pledge fealty to the crown. Lord Eddard; I assume you could keep the North faithful.”

“I am the Warden of the North, and the northern lords look to me as their liege,” Lord Eddard nods, “they will not raise up arms against you. I have sent a raven to my son Robb, to send our banners home. He only declared war on the Lannisters to free me, and I am sure he will not want to cause animosity between our family and the queen who freed me.”

“Good. I think those are the most pressing matters,” Lauren taps her fingers against the table, “oh. There is the question of Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain. I require him. I would prefer if he was brought to me alive, as I would like to serve justice unto him myself, as revenge for what he did to my siblings and my lady mother. Lord Varys, if you could locate him...”

Varys nods as Daenerys hums in her agreement. “Gladly, Your Grace.”

“Yes. With that, this council session is at an end.” She dismisses them, “Lord Eddard, I will organise an honour guard to escort you and your daughter Arya safely back to Winterfell.”

“Actually, Your Grace,” as Varys and Daenerys leave the council chambers, Lord Eddard Stark moves towards the head of the table, where Lauren is still sitting, “there is a small matter I need to discuss with you. Privately.”

“Anything you wish to say before me, you may say before my betrothed.” Lauren waves a hand for him to continue. “Speak freely, Lord Stark.”

Ned Stark still looks a little unsure, but nods solemnly. “It is about your father, Your Grace.”

A sudden _weight_ leaves Lauren’s body; instead of looking like the confident queen, she looks like a frightened little girl. “Oh. I am… I am aware of the circumstances which led to Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. I am not so blind to the truth, and for what my father did to your sister Lyanna… I am truly sorry. The man I remember would never have done such a thing, and it would be easy to blame Targaryen madness-”

“No, Your Grace. I have kept this to myself for eighteen years, as a promise to my sister Lyanna. Her dying wish. I am telling you now because my sense of honour compels me to. I cannot let a daughter remember her father that way.” Lord Eddard starts, and Lauren sits up in her seat; Camila does too, taking Lauren’s hand atop the table and holding it tight for comfort. “Rhaegar did not kidnap Lyanna. She went with him willingly, for they fell in love. I believe he had loved her since the tourney at Harrenhal, where he named her the queen of love and beauty, forsaking her betrothed, Robert, and his lady wife – your mother, Princess Elia. They wed in a secret ceremony in Dorne after the supposed kidnapping, and… and they had a son. I promised my sister that I would protect him, and raise him as my bastard, as Robert would kill the babe if he knew.”

Lauren’s grip on her hand tightens into a fist. “Any son from this sham marriage would be a bastard. By law, you cannot annul a marriage which has been consummated.”

“I am not trying to dispute your claim to the throne. You are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms by rights, as Rhaegar’s eldest trueborn child.” Lord Eddard quickly assures. “And I mean no offence to the memory of your lady mother. Princess Elia was a wonderful woman.”

Lauren is quiet for a moment, before she asks, “Where is the child now?”

“On the Wall. He took the black, and is a man of the Night’s Watch, steward to Lord Commander Mormont.” Lord Eddard tells her, and Lauren seems to ponder this. “Jon Snow is no threat to your claim. He does not even know of his true parentage.”

“Is he like to father any bastards upon the whores in Mole’s Town?” Lauren questions, before she frowns and considers, “If he was raised by you, I doubt this very much. But if he happens to father any children, it would do well for you to send them to me. Even if I wedded a man and bore him a child, the child would take his name, and House Targaryen will die with Dany and I all the same. A few bastard sons legitimised could prevent that.”

Lord Eddard, obviously familiar with Targaryen brutality from the fate his brother and father had at the hands of Aerys, makes sure to ask her, “Your Grace, may I have your assurance that Jon will not be harmed?”

“I am not Aegon IV the Unworthy, who would poison mine own kin for power.” Lauren answers sharply. “This nephew of yours has no claim regardless. A marriage cannot be annulled unless it was not consummated, so my father’s marriage to your sister was not valid. He could not set my mother aside by law. And Jon has taken the black. He is no threat to me, and a half-brother besides. One day I may visit the Wall to meet him, but that is all that may happen.”

Lord Eddard nods. “Do I have your leave to go? I must needs pack my things so the Tower of the Hand is ready for Daenerys.”

“Yes.” Lauren nods, and as he makes his way to the door of the small council chamber, she quickly adds, “I will organise your honour guard for your ride back to Winterfell. Would fifty men suffice?”

“That, plus my household guard will serve.” Lord Eddard bows on his way out. “Your Grace.”

As soon as the room is empty, just the two of them again, Lauren seems to relax. She pours herself a cup of wine, and reclines in her chair, the lilac eyes meeting Camila’s brown ones. “Wine? It’s a fine vintage.”

Camila pours herself a cup, and takes a sip. It is the finest wine she’s ever tasted, and it makes her think of warm summer nights. “What do you propose I get you for an engagement present? You gave me Blackfyre-”

“I want nothing but your love,” Lauren smiles at her over her cup, “you need not get me anything, Camz.”

Camila bites down on her bottom lip. “Do I have to sleep in separate chambers until the wedding? Because I have grown accustomed to holding your naked body as I sleep.”

“I could not bear to sleep without you,” Lauren assures her, standing up from her chair at the head of the table and holding out her hand. “Come, my love. Let us find these queen’s chambers and… _break them in_, so to speak.”

Camila smirks as she takes Lauren’s hand. “So you _will_ be bending the knee to me, then?”

“Perhaps I will bend both knees and kiss you between your thighs,” Lauren murmurs, leaving her cup of wine forgotten on the table as she pulls Camila close to her. Their bodies are pressed flush against one another, and Camila feels like she may rip that fine silk dress off her right here and now. “Would you like that, my love?”

Camila pulls her in for a hungry, lustful kiss, and murmurs, “Let’s go find those chambers.”

-

Her queen is coronated after the execution of Cersei Lannister. Lauren had insisted that she did not want her first act as queen to be an act of violence, and the execution of Robert’s queen did not even happen in the castle. It happened in the Dragonpit.

“The Usurper’s Justice may have been a man with a sword, but House Targaryen’s Justice is a dragon.” Lauren had decreed. Instead of taking off Cersei Lannister’s head, the woman had died screaming of dragonfire. Camila heard Lord Varys whispering in her ear to kill the old Grand Maester Pycelle, but Lauren had done as she decreed, stripping him of his maester’s chain and sending him to Casterly Rock with the message of Cersei’s death on account of treason, and Jaime’s captivity.

Lord Tywin had yet to raise his banners in revolt, but he had also not responded to the summons to bend the knee to the new queen. Many of the high lords arrived in time for the coronation, and to pledge fealty to their queen. As she watches the woman she loves walk the length of the throne room, past the Targaryen banners hanging from the walls over the flowered tapestries, to stand before the Iron Throne, with lords and commons alike there to witness, Camila feels nothing less than proud.

As her Hand, Daenerys is the one to crown her, using the crown that Lauren always wears. “I now proclaim Visenya of the House Targaryen, the Second of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She places the crown on her niece’s head, and when Lauren finally sits the Iron Throne, her eyes are directly on Camila. It’s as though nobody else is in the room.

“Long may she reign!”

The chants are repeated, and Camila is the one to shout the loudest. She wants to go up there and kiss her betrothed, but she must wait. _I can withhold myself until the crowd leave._

But the crowd take what seems like a moon’s turn to leave. Every man, woman and child, highborn or low, walks up to the Iron Throne to congratulate Her Grace and wish her a long, peaceful reign. Lauren seems grateful to them all, and gracious to the high lords who bend the knee, but as people are talking to her, her eyes keep flicking back towards Camila, and that soft smile, the gentle, reserved one; the one that belongs to _Lauren_, not _Queen Visenya of the House Targaryen_, always settles on her face.

When the last of the congratulators leaves the throne room, Lauren stands from the throne and crosses over to Camila, taking her in her arms. “I cannot wait until we are wed. We must focus on the preparations in the small council meeting tomorrow. You must make sure Sinu and Alejandro are here for our wedding, too. Have they responded to your letter?”

She nods. “My father accepts your offer of the position as Commander of the City Watch. I am sure he will whip the Gold Cloaks into shape. I have something to ask you, Lo.”

Lauren raises her eyebrows. “Anything, Camz.”

“Your hair. I find I am missing the black.” Camila runs a hand through the silver; it is beautiful and other-worldly, but she still misses the coal black hair she fell for. “Would you consider dyeing it again, for a time?”

“Perhaps in a few moon’s turns, when I grow bored and weary of this crown. We may take a break, and journey across Westeros, masquerading as Lauren the bastard girl and Camila the common squire. Daenerys will rule as Hand while I am absent.” Lauren smiles at her. “The lords and commons alike will be none the wiser.”

“I would like that, my love.” Camila kisses her, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Will we take a horse, or ride dragonback?”

“Yes, a pair of commoners with a dragon, that would be no cause for suspicion,” Lauren sarcastically japes, and Camila rolls her eyes, “Vhagar is not so small that I can hide him in a desolate stone house deep in the woods. He grows bigger by the day.”

“And your power with it.” Camila smiles. “You have the fealty of the Crownlands, the Reach, Dorne, the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Iron Islands now that Yara Greyjoy has arrived from Pyke to take her council seat. The minor Stormlords have pledged fealty to you and remain faithful because you keep Renly here, which means you have the Stormlands as well.”

“Only the Westerlands remain uncertain,” Lauren agrees, “but Lord Tywin will not rise against me as long as I hold his son Jaime. He is a smart man, and knows I will make good on my threats.”

Camila smiles, proud of her queen. “Any word on the whereabouts on Gregor Clegane?”

“None as of yet.” Lauren sours. “I have a firm belief that Lord Tywin is keeping him hidden, but I _will_ have my vengeance.”

“What do you plan to do to him?” For once, Camila would condone the violence; she knows what Gregor Clegane had done to Elia Martell and her children.

“I plan to do everything he did to my mother and siblings.” Lauren’s eyes darken. “Stab him, like he stabbed my sister Rhaenys, but not enough to kill him. Allow the hounds to defile him as he defiled my mother. And then I shall crush his skull in, as he crushed my brother Aegon’s skull. Then the dragons may feed on his corpse. I do not like committing violent acts, but this once I may relish it.”

“We will find him,” Camila says, “and he will deserve his fate.”

“Yes. Now, no more talk of this. We must think of our wedding,” Lauren quickly changes the subject, “traditionally, the couple have not bedded each other before the ceremony, and in order to prove consummation, the guests perform the bedding ceremony. Would you like me to call for no such ceremony?”

“The bedding is part of the fun,” Camila flashes a wicked grin, “we shall keep it.”

“Okay. I have invited the Lords of Highgarden, Sunspear, Horn Hill, Riverrun and the Eyrie to attend. I sent a polite invitation to the Starks as well, though I do not expect they will travel back to King’s Landing after only just leaving three days past. I also sent a polite invitation to Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock, though I doubt he will grace us with his presence.” Lauren lists, “Many will bring their men-at-arms, and they shall be feasted outside in the courtyard, along with any smallfolk who wish to attend. The leftover food shall be donated to the poor.”

“You have truly made the smallfolk love you,” Camila murmurs, “almost as much as I love you, my queen.”

“There is no love I want more than yours,” Lauren kisses her, “When Ser Michael told me I could not get involved with you, I had half a mind to forget about the throne, forsake House Targaryen, and live forever as Lauren. With you, in a way, I get to do that. It is nice not to be queen sometimes.”

“I love you with my whole heart, Lauren,” Camila mumbles against her lips as she pulls her in for another kiss, “and I love Queen Visenya as well.”

“I love Camila the squire,” Lauren murmurs, looking at her with so much love shining in her violet eyes, “and Camila of the House Baratheon too.”

-

Her wedding day starts separately from that of her future lady wife’s.

She wakes alone; it was insisted that Camila sleep in a separate bedchamber for the night, so they may remain pure the night before they are wed. If anything, not having their nightly, _private_ bedding ceremony puts her in a foul mood, and waking up without Camila’s naked form pressed up against hers makes her even more sour, but she soon wakes herself up and allows her handmaidens to help her ready herself.

She would’ve preferred _not_ having maids – if she can rule a kingdom, she is perfectly capable of brushing her own hair – but apparently it is not befitting that a queen take care of herself. She is quiet and contemplative as she gets ready in one of her best gowns – not her wedding gown, just the one she will be wearing to breakfast with the nobility closest to her. They will give her gifts for her own person, even though later she and Camila will receive gifts as a couple.

She makes her way to the Queen’s Ballroom within the Red Keep, where the breakfast will be held. She does not know where Camila is having her own breakfast, and when she asks her handmaidens and Ser Michael, they refuse to tell her. Probably because they know she’d sneak off at the earliest opportunity just to see her love.

The conversation is light, thankfully; she is not in the mood to play the gratuitous queen when she has not kissed Camila in approximately ten hours. She breaks her fast with Daenerys, Ser Michael, Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter Margaery, Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne of Dorne, as well as Sansa Stark and Ser Loras. The gifts are plentiful, as befitting a queen, most of them being gowns and jewels. Her favourite is the golden wood bow and matching quiver of arrows she receives from Daenerys, and Sansa Stark, ever the courteous lady, frowns when she tries a practice shot and lodges an arrow in the eye of a very exquisite oil painting of Robert Baratheon that someone must have forgotten to take down.

After breaking her fast and receiving her gifts, she returns to her chambers to change into her wedding gown, one of exquisite ivory silk and Myrish lace, tailored to her exact measurements. Her maids style her hair intricately, similarly to the way they style Dany’s, before placing her crown carefully atop her head, and escorting her down to the litter that will take her to the Great Sept of Baelor for her wedding ceremony. It is there that she will finally see her bride, and there that the High Septon will perform the ceremony before the statues of the Father and the Mother.

_A marriage for love that works politically_, she thinks to herself as the litter takes her step by step closer to her betrothed, _you would be hard pressed to find another like that in the Seven Kingdoms_. Only the smallfolk seem to wed for love, it seems; if you are highborn, a political marriage is arranged, and love may or may not occur after you are wed.

_I have always known I must wed, _Visenya Targaryen muses while the litter slowly rocks as it travels down the streets of King’s Landing,_ but I never knew I would be wedding the love of my life._

She opens the shutters of the litter as it travels down the streets, and waves to the smallfolk who scream her name, shouts of love, wishing her a happy wedding day. Each one she smiles or waves at seems blessed with happiness and argues with their neighbour over which one of them the queen waved at. When they finally arrive at the sept and she climbs out of the litter, there are thousands of smallfolk waiting at the entrance, cheering for her.

She smiles and waves as she is escorted into the sept by Ser Michael, and soon greets the high lords and ladies come to see her wed. She is distracted while talking to them, looking around for her love, for _Camila_, because she is the only person she wants to talk to right now.

She can’t see her, and once she has greeted her guests on the walk up to the statues of the Father and the Mother, as well as the High Septon himself, she _still_ can’t see her bride. But once she turns to question the High Septon, that is when she walks in through the grand oaken doors of the Great Sept of Baelor.

Being kept apart from her all morning makes the sight of Camila that little bit sweeter. As she escorted down the aisle by Alejandro, Lauren notes that she’s not wearing a gown, and instead a fine doublet in the colours of House Baratheon, the black stag on a shimmering gold, beneath a cloak made of delicate velvet. The cloak had been tailored especially for their wedding ceremony; when it was to come to the changing of the cloaks, Camila would take off Lauren’s maiden cloak – even though she is not a maiden by any means – and cloak her in the colours of Baratheon and Targaryen, creating a union between their two Houses and taking Lauren under her protection.

As Camila reaches her, Lauren almost kisses her then and there, but she must wait until the ceremony begins. Camila sends her that loving smile, and Lauren murmurs, “I missed you, Camz.”

“I missed _you_, Lo,” Camila murmurs back, “but soon we will never have to miss one another again.”

Lauren offers up her arm, and they climb the steps to the statues of the Father and the Mother, beneath the seven pointed star of the gods.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of our queen and her love,” As they stand side by side, the High Septon ties their hands with the ribbon as he says his blessings, “Let it be known that Visenya of the House Targaryen, and Camila of the House Baratheon are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

She knows she should look at the High Septon, but she can’t help herself. She glances towards Camila, and finds the woman is already looking at her. They share a smile as the Septon continues, “In the light of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Speaking simultaneously, they say the names of the Seven, as is wedding custom. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

And then Camila says, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am hers, and she is mine,” her hand tightens on Camila’s as she looks into her eyes, “from this day, until the end of my days.”

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection,” The High Septon says, taking the physical ribbon off their hands, but the gods have left their permanent one. Camila takes the cloak of solely Targaryen colours, red dragon on black, and passes it to Ser Michael, who takes it grudgingly. Then, taking off her own cloak, she wraps it around Lauren’s shoulders, her fingers running gently through her hair to pull it out of the way.

“With this kiss,” Camila declares to their audience of high lords, “I pledge my love.”

She echoes the words back to her, and Camila pulls her by the waist, kissing her long and deep, and she barely hears the High Septon proclaiming them married, because all she cares about is this, _Camila_, the love of her life regardless of if she’s a Baratheon or a mere squire.

“All hail Queen Visenya of House Targaryen, the Second of her Name, and her lady wife, Queen Camila of the Houses Baratheon and Targaryen. Long may they reign!”

-

** _The Targaryen Restoration: The Reign of Queen Visenya II Targaryen  
by Archmaester Samwell Tarly_ **

_After the ‘do-nothing’ reign of Robert Baratheon, a king some still call ‘The Usurper’, the throne was meant to pass to the boy everyone believed to be his son, Joffrey Baratheon. Shortly after King Robert’s untimely death by boar attack, his Hand Lord Eddard Stark was accused of treason and thrown in the black cells beneath the Red Keep, awaiting trial. It was announced that he had tried to deny Joffrey the throne, and threatened Queen Cersei Lannister, claiming that the boy Joffrey was not Robert’s son after all, but a bastard born of incest between Cersei and her brother Jaime Lannister, Aerys II Targaryen’s killer. As well as this, Lannister was accused of conspiring to kill the king in order to crown her bastard son._

_The realm seemed like to plunge into war; Lord Eddard’s son and heir, Robb Stark, called the northern bannermen with the intent to march on King’s Landing and free his father. The Dornish began to march on King’s Landing for reasons then unknown, as well as the power of the Tyrells of Highgarden and their lords bannermen. The reason; a Targaryen restoration._

_Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister, Daenerys Targaryen, stormed the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, the island of Dragonstone. In her power were ten thousand Dothraki horselords as well as three dragons, one of which Targaryen rode. Dragonstone was taken for House Targaryen, and Lord Stannis Baratheon, Robert’s brother, was killed in the fight. Many believed that Daenerys had come to reclaim her father’s crown, as she was believed to be the last Targaryen._

_But another dragon was soon revealed; Visenya of the House Targaryen, daughter to Rhaegar Targaryen and rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rode into King’s Landing on the back of a dragon named Vhagar, for the dragon of her ancestor and namesake, Visenya I Targaryen. With dragonfire, it was all the easier for Visenya to blow the gates of King’s Landing, letting the Dornish and Tyrell armies and Daenerys’ Dothraki storm into the city to take the throne._

_The accusations that Lord Eddard Stark put forth were revealed to be true, and while Joffrey was killed during the battle of King’s Landing by Visenya’s sworn sword and future wife, Camila of the House Baratheon, Robert’s legitimised bastard daughter, Cersei Lannister was captured and later executed by dragonfire. Her brother, Jaime Lannister, was kept hostage in King’s Landing to prevent Lord Tywin Lannister from rebelling against the crown. As a gesture of good faith, Lord Tywin’s younger son Tyrion was given a position on the small council. _

_Lord Eddard Stark was freed and allowed safe passage to Winterfell with his daughter Arya (who would later be awarded the white cloak of Visenya II Targaryen’s Queensguard in her sixteenth year), while Lord Eddard’s elder daughter Sansa Stark remained in King’s Landing as a lady of the court and became close friends with Queen Visenya and Queen Camila, and was betrothed to Ser Loras Tyrell, younger brother to Ser Michael Tyrell, Lord Commander of Visenya’s Queensguard. Ser Barristan Selmy, a known Targaryen loyalist who bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, was demoted from his position as Lord Commander, taken by Ser Michael, but became the second of Visenya’s seven sworn white cloaks._

_A moon’s turn after her coronation, Queen Visenya wed her lover, Lady Camila of House Baratheon. Some found a union between two women queer, but the Targaryens have always had an odd history with marriages, and were known to wed brother to sister for several centuries. The two women began their reign together, with Queen Camila being crowned at the event of their wedding._

_The two queens were loved by high lords and smallfolk alike, and decreed that anyone in need would receive weekly rations of the harvest, and implored the Wardens of the North, South, East and West to do the same. However, due to the Targaryen history of madness, some were worried about Queen Visenya’s mental state. These concerns especially came to light when Lord Tywin Lannister died, making Tyrion the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Warden of the West. His castellan delivered Ser Gregor Clegane to the queen as a gesture of good faith, and she seemed to enjoy the torture she put to him before finally giving him to her dragons. Some called it vengeance for her mother and younger siblings, but others cited it as the Targaryen madness._

_However, the supposed madness never showed itself again. After Queen Visenya had killed Ser Gregor, she was returned to the good and just queen that everyone knew. Queen Camila defended her lady wife, and claimed that Ser Gregor deserved his fate after what he had done to Elia Martell, and her two younger children, Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen._

_As the two queens grew older, some worried about the fate of House Targaryen. Two women cannot make a child, and Daenerys Targaryen, Queen Visenya’s Hand as well as her aunt, could not bear children either. At this time, they were believed to be the last Targaryens._

_That is until Eddard Stark’s believed bastard and then steward for the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow, was executed as a deserter when many of his brothers did not believe he joined Mance Rayder (the self-proclaimed King Beyond the Wall) as a spy, and thought him a turncloak. He was subsequently resurrected by a red priestess of R’hllor. It was then that Queen Visenya and her lady wife Queen Camila travelled to the Wall on the back of the dragon Vhagar, and Queen Visenya revealed a truth that Lord Eddard had told her at the beginning of her reign; that she was his half-sister, and his true parents were Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, who had married in a secret ceremony in Dorne._

_As Jon Snow – or as his true name would be, Aemon Targaryen – had given his life for the Night’s Watch, he was released from his vows and travelled down to King’s Landing. Queen Visenya organised a marriage to Arianne Martell of Dorne for him, and they furthered the Targaryen line by fathering three sons and a daughter; their eldest son becoming second in line to the Iron Throne after Daenerys Targaryen._

_The remainder of Queen Visenya’s reign was a peaceful one; the only conflict was when Renly Baratheon, allowed to return to Storm’s End, tried to raise his banners in rebellion against the throne. As the queens Visenya and Camila had much love from the smallfolk and lords alike, Lord Renly did not have much support from the commons. The battle was a short one, and a quick victory for the Targaryens._

_Sometimes, the two queens disappeared from King’s Landing, and returned a few weeks after, leaving the ruling to Daenerys Targaryen, the Hand of the Queen. They refused to tell anyone where they went, but sometimes in small towns across Westeros, a common squire named Camila with no surname and a black-haired bastard girl named Lauren would show up at an inn and stay there for a time, befriending the villagers as they were there. Whenever people would comment on how Lauren would look identical to the queen, if only she had silver hair, she would merely smile and ignore the words. The squire, when asked if she was Queen Camila of the Houses Baratheon and Targaryen, would always say, “Who’s that? I’ve never heard of her,” and share a laugh with Lauren._

_In her fortieth year on the Iron Throne, Queen Visenya took off her crown and passed the throne to Daenerys. Taking her dragon Vhagar, and her lady wife, the two moved to Ashford and lived out the rest of their days together in a small cottage. The queens would not allow the other villagers to treat them as members of the royal family, preferring to live under their then well-known aliases of Lauren the bastard and Camila the squire. _

_They are considered the best queens Westeros has ever seen, and many attribute that to the fact that they married for love, not politics. Queen Camila never saw Queen Visenya as her better, even though she was bastard-born and later legitimised by the queen. They were equals, and many believe that to each other, they were never Queen Camila and Queen Visenya, but a bastard girl and a squire who happened to fall in love._


End file.
